


Love and Honor

by LadyArkin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Concussions, Emotional Manipulation, First Dates, Head Injury, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Romance, Sentimental, Tails, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArkin/pseuds/LadyArkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John accepts a kind gesture from Mycroft at face value. He should have known that when it comes to the Holmes boys nothing is ever simple or easy. It seems that Mycroft is conducting his own type of experiment. The end result of which will lead to both logical and inevitable evolutions at 221B Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Brothers, One John

John was just leaving from a shift at the clinic. He was taking the last sep down to the side walk when he saw the sleek black sedan pull up the curb. John tugged up on his coat collar. The car’s black door opened. John walked over and cautiously peered inside.  
Mycroft smiled pleasantly. “I’d very much like to offer you a ride, John. I believe you were on your way home.”  
He only had to think about it for a moment.  
He got in.  
Once the door was closed and the car was moving, John turned to Mycroft. “I take it you want to talk about something?”  
“What ever gave you that idea?”  
“You’re…here,” John replied.  
Mycroft’s reply began with an enigmatic smile. For a few long moments that’s all there was, then he finally said, “I was close by. I thought I’d offer you a ride. But if it makes you feel better, I can ask you intrusive questions about my sibling.”  
“So, you just want to give me a ride?”  
“Yes.”  
John sat back and waited. He learned the hard way that there was no point in verbal duals with a Holmes. it was easier in life to ride it out and see where their logic took you. He couldn’t imagine that his strategy could be any different when dealing with Mycroft.  
The car pulled up outside 221 B Baker Street.  
John turned to Mycroft. At first, he wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, he settled on a simple, “Thanks.”  
A few days later, it rained. John got caught at work unprepared. He had just finished with his last client of the day. His paperwork was done. He had no more excuses. John was looking out at the white haze of pounding rain beating the street, and the dark skies which promised more to come. He was simply dreading the run to the tub station.   
It was as he was contemplating the walk of wetness that he noticed the black sedan cut through the haze and come to rest in front of the clinic. John couldn’t help the smile. He got his coat, said his good byes, and left.  
He got into the car and it pulled away before he realized that Mycroft wasn’t inside with him. Instead, there was a big, soft, fluffy towel and a compact umbrella wrapped in a silk ribbon. There was a card sitting just under the umbrella, elegantly white and heavy bond.  
In elegant script, it read:

>   
>  My dearest Doctor,  
>  So happy that I could be of service.   
>  Sincerely,  
>  Mycroft Holmes

Predictable as clockwork that sedan would show up no matter what days of the week he might be scheduled.  
So far Mycroft had been in the car only the one time. The towel and the umbrella weren’t the only things he’d found. A few times there were expensive French chocolates in a little crystal dish off to one side. Twice a week a small compartment would open and a crystal glass would slide out with whiskey. Good and very smooth whiskey. Really good whiskey, better than anything he’d ever gotten at any pub.  
It simply became a habit.  
This is why he looked up so quickly, so expectantly that day.  
It was cold and wet out. He and Sherlock had been on a stake out in a cold abandoned building for hours on end. When the suspect finally arrived they had given chase. As had become the norm, it was a chaotic run as they chased behind a murderer according to the dictates of Sherlock’s mind. The streets were all but abandoned. Only the chill and mist accompanied them on their late evening mad dash.  
John tripped. He didn’t see the ice on the pavement, lost his footing, and slammed down. The sharp pain went straight up his leg bone. He even felt his teeth rattle in his head. The wetness began seeping into his clothes, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was lay there and let it pass.  
Slowly, he pulled himself up. First to his knees, so he didn’t get any wetter. Then, he braced his uninjured leg on the ground. He stood as a matter of will, gingerly placing his foot down when he had the courage to do so. The strained muscles protested with every limp, but he made it to a bus bench.  
He was still sitting there ten minutes later when Sherlock returned.  
“How’d he get away?”  
“It absolutely astounds me that tube officers actually still expect me to pay during a case!”  
“Those idiots! Don’t they know who you are?”  
Sherlock gave him a disdainful side glance that made John laugh. Laughing caused a jolt of pain to spike upwards.  
“Is it broken?”  
“Don’t think so, but I’m going to need an x-ray.”  
That’s when he saw it.  
An expensive black sedan cutting through the street. Out of place, in that part of town, it was a beacon of warmth and comfort. It came close but turned off on it’s journey somewhere else.  
“You can’t trust him,” Sherlock insisted.  
“Sherlock, I’m not getting involved in some childish sibling rivalry.”  
“You already are,” Sherlock insisted. He stood and adjusted his scarf. “I’ll find a taxi.”  
John was laid up for three days with a sprain. He didn’t get much rest because Sherlock was restless and bored. On the second day, he called his office wanting to get away. There was constant violin and crap telly when Sherlock wasn’t dreaming up other entertainment opportunities.  
John dressed and struggled down the stairs in his crutches. He locked the door and carefully turned to find the best surprise that he could have gotten. A black sedan idling by the curb.  
John actually smiled as he hobbled to the car. The drive to work was peaceful and so comfortable that he actually fell asleep. A honk of a horn woke him up.  
John went about his day trying to limit his pain meds. He was uncomfortable and a little short. He made it through because he knew he’d have a ride home. Also, he was exhausted enough to sleep through anything, even Sherlock’s boredom.  
When he did finally get in the car, he almost cried. On the seat next to him was a big bag of Chinese from Sherlock and his favorite place. Even though he wasn’t due for a pill for another two hours, he was grateful.  
When he got out of the car, John tried to catch the driver’s attention. He’d wanted to thank the person, but there seemed to be no opportunity. As usual, the car drove away before he could speak to the driver. And so, John began his journey up the stairs as he managed the bag in his hand.  
He was sweating by he time he reached the flat. John wandered in and hung his jacket up. He moved to the table, set the bag down, and lowered himself into a chair. John lowered his head and gave thanks that he hard part of his day was now over.  
“It took me a while to piece it together, but that only because I’ve never seen Mycroft court anyone before.”  
“Get me a pillow for my leg,” John asked too tired to explore the man’s thought process.  
“He doesn’t do sentiment. The fact that you are in my life is next to meaningless to him. Finally, I realized that he is playing for your affection. He hasn’t wanted anything of mine since we were children. No. No. No. This is him. His idea of a relationship.”  
John took the bag of Chinese and got back up. He made doubly sure that his pills were in his pocket before he started up the last few steps to his bedroom door. He wanted a pain killer, food, and sleep, in that order.  
John got to eat half an egg roll before the painkiller and exhaustion got the better of him. He woke up the next day with the egg roll still in his hand, but felt better than when he’d dragged himself up those stairs the previous evening.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

He walked out of the house late, but with the intention of going to work. When he walked out, the car was waiting. This time John went straight to the driver and knocked on the window. A dark, Asian man wearing a chauffeur’s uniform rolled the window down.  
“I needed to thank you. I was really in a bad way yesterday.”  
“Whatever you need, sir. Would you like help getting in?”  
“I’m fine. Thanks.”  
John got in and was taken to work.  
During the drive, John took out his mobile and called Mycroft’s office. He got a voicemail. He left a brief message thanking the man. Appreciation was easy when the alternative involved taking the tube on crutches between bouts of Sherlock and work.  
A few days later, John walked out of work to find Mycroft standing out by the car. Elegant three piece suite and umbrella in hand.  
John couldn’t help the smile. He offered his hand to the man. “I hope your trip was enjoyable.”  
“Ah, the tan. Very good, John. I trust your foot is better?”  
“Yes. Thank you. I left you a message. It didn’t seem near enough. Would you let me buy you a drink?” He hadn’t intended to ask the man out, but it seemed the right thing to do.  
Mycroft smiled. “Actually, I came to ask you to dinner. As you surmised, I’ve been away on business. I’m positively dying for good, old fashioned English food.”  
“So, a pub?” John kidded. “Guinness. A nice Shepherd’s pie and buttered peas.”  
“There’s an excellent place that comes to mind.”  
The smile slowly melted off of John’s face.  
Mycroft carefully said, “I’d appreciate it if you said yes. We have a few things to discuss, namely Sherlock.”  
“I thought you weren’t going to ask me intrusive questions about your sibling?”  
Mycroft watched him closely. Finally, he said, “You’re adorable when you’re frustrated. As entertaining as it may be, you can quell your fears of letting me down gently. I shall explain everything to you over dinner.”  
Mycroft opened the door expectantly.  
“Right,” John said.  
He got in.  
The ‘pub’ turned out to be much more up scale than John had anticipated. Simply staring at the exterior of the pub and looking in through the windows let John know without a doubt that he was grossly under dressed.  
“You don’t do things halfway, do you?”  
“Eating and drinking are pleasure. It should be done well.”  
John couldn’t help laughing. “If Sherlock ever said anything like that I’d die of shock.”  
“I am not Sherlock,” Mycroft said poignantly as he walked to the door.  
John happily followed.  
They were seated quickly at a good table that was out of the way.  
The waiter promptly took their drink orders. John was a bit surprised that Mycroft would want a pint. But it was a pleasant surprise.  
“So,” John said when they were finally alone. “How are the fish and chips here?”  
Mycroft smiled. “Fine, but they are better known for their beef Wellington, roast dinner, and their scotch egg platter.”  
“Roast dinner sounds good,” John replied quickly. “I don’t cook much. Sherlock’s not a big eater some days. A nice roast dinner would hit the spot.”  
“I was actually craving beef today. I usually eat more vegetarian but I haven’t had meat in two weeks.” he put his menu down saying, “It’s decided.”  
The waiter arrived with their pints and they ordered quickly.  
Mycroft sipped from his pint. A sight that John wasn’t sure he’d ever get used too.  
“First, I need to ask you to keep this conversation between the two of us.”  
“That depends on the nature of the conversation.”  
“I suppose that’s fair. I am conducting a type of experiment. My hypothesis begins with my supposition that Sherlock is more than capable of engaging and maintaining a romantic relationship. My testing is designed to see if he is able to react to the strongest stimuli available. That would be his personal John seemingly engaged in an outside relationship with the strongest protagonist available, namely me.”  
John let out a long breath. He look a long draught from his pint before he could trust himself. “What you are telling me is that I am the blanket caught between two fighting juveniles.”  
“Aren’t you either curious…or concerned? You are the closest thing to an intimate relationship that he has. Wouldn’t you want to see him happy?”  
“Sherlock does not have feelings for me.” He tried to keep his tone as civil as possible. “We are not a couple. I am not gay. I’m actually tired of explaining that.”  
“I’m sure you are. Probably as much as I am of seeing my brother alone.”  
John shook his head. “You’re a fine one to talk, Mycroft Holmes.”  
“I’ll have you know that I currently have a romantic partner. It’s difficult to maintain a relationship with my schedule, but so far…”  
“Really? I mean, good for you. So, why don’t you sit down like a normal human being and discuss your concerns with Sherlock?”  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow.  
“Right,” John replied. “I heard that come out of my mouth and I’m wondering what I was thinking.”  
“Sherlock clings to the label of sociopath in an attempt to keep himself isolated from others. No one has ever gotten past every wall that he has erected expect for you.”  
“We’re friends,” he insisted.  
“Outside of family, my dear doctor, you are the most profound relation that he has ever had.  
“Then why try to damage that?”  
“Not damage. Never that.” Mycroft sat back and said, “I’ve gone to lengths to ensure that Sherlock not know about my current relationship. Time-to-time, we have on occasion discussed the face that he is worried I’m lonely. I’ve done this with intent.”  
“Mycroft, all Sherlock knows is that your car is giving me a lift. He’s slowly driving me balmy. Is your intent to have me kill him?”  
Mycroft smiled pleasantly. Like an adult humoring a child. “My intent is to wake my dear brother. My intent is to make him realize that he cares.” Mycroft carefully crossed his legs. “I ask you, what will happen when he comes to realize that you and I are possibly in a relationship?”  
“He’ll drive me round the bend,” John answered immediately.  
“And what happens when he suspects that you are being mistreated or treated poorly?”  
John shrugged. “Why should he do anything? I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”  
“Yes. I know. However, I take the liberty to remind you of the incident at 221B Baker Street where Mrs. Hudson was frightened and slightly injured. Do you remember his response?”  
“Yes,” John said simply. “Mrs. Hudson’s bins will never be the same. But he deserved it. Mrs. Hudson was defenseless. He and I are both protective of her.”  
“As he is of you.”  
John watched Mycroft carefully.  
“I’m serious, Doctor.”  
“Let me see if I understand correctly. Mycroft Holmes, of all people, believes that he can rattle Sherlock Holmes into sexual awakening by suggesting that he and I are dating. And then I’m to play the damsel in distress so that he can rescue me?”  
“It’s more complicated than that, but essentially.”  
John smirked. “And how’s ‘our’ tumultuous relationship going to revolutionize his sexual identity?”  
“Please Doctor, let me worry about that.”  
John picked up his pint and drank deeply. He put his pint down saying, “Sounds like manipulation and lies. I’m sorry. I’ll not participate in this.”  
Their food arrived. While the waiter set their food down neither man spoke.  
When the waiter left, Mycroft tilted his head saying, “I’m disappointed but I understand. I wonder, Doctor, would it be terribly rude on my part if I were to leave early. If this endeavor is fruitless, then perhaps this evening can still be salvaged.”  
John smirked knowingly. “Late night call?”  
Mycroft managed a little smile. “After two weeks, any time with my significant other is welcome. I hope you can understand?”  
John mirrored the man’s smile. “I’m not going to stop you. Enjoy yourself.”  
Mycroft waved the waiter over. He ordered food packed to go.  
“I shall pay on my way out. Please stay and enjoy your traditional roast dinner.”  
“I’m glad you’re being so understanding.”  
“We are all adults.” Mycroft picked up his pint. In one impressive gulp he drained his remaining glass.  
The subsequent burp was a shock that left John unable to speak.  
“Excuse me,” Mycroft said quickly. “I’ll be sure to send a car in thirty minutes or so to wait for your return home. Good night, John.”  
“Night,” was the best he could manage.  
John sat back a little dazed. Mycroft Holmes. Regular bloke. At a pub, a fancy pub, but a pub. Draining a pint and running off eager to shag.  
John had to drain his pint just to clear the cotton in his head.  
He happily tucked into his dinner. The waiter brought him two more pints, and then brought him a choice of desserts. He happily chose the spotted dick which was served with a generous dollop of cream. John was reminded of dinners at his grandmother’s when he was a child. He inhaled his pudding and scrapped the plate clean of cream.  
Despite the strange start to the evening, it was one of the nicer dinners he’d had in weeks. One his way out, he was informed that his meal was indeed paid for, the tip as well. John was also handed a bag. The waiter said, “Mr. Holmes insisted that you take a snack for later.”  
John walked out of the pub. A moment later a black sedan elegantly rolled to a stop in front of him.  
John smiled and got in.  
He froze when he saw the unknown woman sitting inside. The beautiful woman was dressed elegantly. She even smelled beautiful. Long black hair. Pale skin. Big, blue eyes.  
“Please, Doctor Watson. Do sit.”  
He was a little unsure, but he complied.  
“I was just going home,” he explained.  
“I know.” She smiled beautifully. She crossed her legs. He couldn’t help but gawk.  
“Would you like a knight cap?”  
“Thank you, but no. I’ve already had a bit to drink. I find that it’s good to keep my head given my room mates antics.”  
“You’re extremely handsome. Do you mind my saying so? I know it’s forward of me.”  
He felt his face heat a little, but said, “No.”  
She smiled. “You have a little cream. Just there by your lip.”  
She caught his hand before he could wipe it away.  
“Let me,” she said leaning in. She smiled seductively. Gently, ever so languidly, she licked his face. The second lick, she wound her slender arms around his neck. On the third lick, she slowly slid her silk clad leg up and around his leg.  
John happily leaned in and kissed her. She easily complied kissing back enthusiastically. He wasn’t quite sure how long it lasted. All he really knew was that when she pulled away, the sedan was parked in front of 221B.  
She moved back to her side of the bench saying, “Good night, Doctor.”  
He smiled a bit awkwardly and hesitantly left.  
John watched the sedan drive away. He stared for a good while.  
Finally, he said, “I’m the blanket.”  
Self-consciously, he began arranging his clothes. He raked his fingers through his hair trying to put everything into some semblance of order.  
John turned. Instinctively, he looked up. No one was there, but a slight sway of the curtain told him that he’d been too slow.  
“Mycroft,” John whispered in frustration. “You’ll burn in hell for this.” 


	2. A FRIEND INDEED

John was in the middle of his work day when he received a text.  
 _Emergency! Need your help! G.L._  
 _What’s happening? J.W._  
 _Have a date. Been told my aftershaves are rubbish. Be a mate. Lend a nose. I’ll buy you coffee. G.L._  
 _Only on two conditions. Tea, not coffee. And only if we go quick during lunch. Working late tonight. J.W._  
 _Ta! Pick you up at 11:30. G.L._  
Greg was true to his word and out front on time. John only had to walk out and get in.   
“So who’s the lucky girl that Gregory Lestrade has to put on airs for?”  
“Not airs. I just want to make a good impression. Bad enough I’ve gone grey. I’m divorced. And I have no time for anything outside of work. Last thing I need is to smell like an old man.”  
John was quiet for a moment.  
“I guess you must really like her. Cheers, mate. You deserve something good in your life.”  
Greg smiled, but otherwise didn’t comment.  
They parked outside a small perfumery that looked expensive and exclusive. John didn’t say anything about how high end it looked because Greg seemed happy enough.  
“As your friend, I need to tell you that I might not be the best person for this.”  
“John I spend ninety nine percent of my time at work. I’m ‘not’ involving any of them in my love life. That leaves you and Sherlock.”  
“Right, lets pick up some take away when we’re done. I haven’t picked up any notes from the bank. I have to pay with plastic.”  
“There’s a nice Thai place down the road.”  
“Sounds fine,” John agreed easily as they entered the upscale store.  
They walked immediately into the smell of perfumes and colognes. John trailed behind Greg as he walked to the men’s section.   
The first thing Greg did was pick up several bottles and start sniffing. A salesman asked several questions involving words like: spicy, woodsy, floral, and earthen. They smelled scents on paper strips. They were encouraged to cleanse their palates by inhaling the scent of coffee beans sitting in crystal bowls.  
Greg finally settled on the non-descript bottle of ‘house crafted’ scent. It didn’t even have a label. The scent was subtle and clean with a little citrus on the back end. Greg seemed to like it.  
John tried not to hover while he paid.   
In the car Greg immediately pulled the bottle out and sprayed himself down. He over did it and sprayed John.  
“Very nice. Now that you smell young and successful, can we get some food?”  
“You forgot hung.”  
“I’m intimidated just sitting next to you. I want noodles. If you don’t mind throw that thing over your shoulder and let’s go.”  
“Long as you respect my power.”  
They both laughed.  
John was able to get back to the office only five minutes late, which wasn’t bad. He put his noodles away, apologized nicely to his client and went on with his clinics.  
When his clinics were done, the paperwork began. Because Sherlock had been monopolizing his time, John hadn’t been doing much even when he was able to come in. His patient notes and reviews were well over due.   
Instead of going home at four, John sat in his office and went through pile after pile of patient files. He wrote notes, updated electronic data, and wrote directions for the nurse practitioner and pharmacists.  
When he closed the last file he looked up and saw that it was seven. John wandered into the break room and pulled his leftovers from lunch out of the fridge. In ten minutes he’d heated and eaten his little meal. when he was finished, he turned the lights out and left. He walked out locking the door behind him only to find the car waiting.  
John smiled wearily.  
It was a nice quite ride home. He enjoyed a finger’s worth of expensive whiskey and felt his body unwind.  
He felt good, right until he got home.  
John found Sherlock on the couch. He was curled up facing away like a pouting child.  
“I’m home,” John announced. “Have you eaten? Would you like some tea? I want some. I don’t think I had enough to eat.”  
John walked into the kitchen. He didn’t expect and didn’t get an answer. Sherlock had been unusually quiet. He figured it was best left alone.  
He puttered around. He made two beans on toast, two cups of tea, and managed to find a few biscuits to put on a plate for Sherlock.  
He set a plate and Sherlock’s favorite cup within reach, then he sat back. John stretched out and turned the television on. He managed to take one bite of his beans on toast when Sherlock stood up. The man stepped onto and off the coffee table. Then he walked away. The only rhyme and reason John got was the slamming of Sherlock’s bedroom door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

With Sherlock on one of his pouts, John started leaving the flat a lot. Most of the time he’d meet up with Greg. Unlike usual Greg didn’t want to meet in a pub and throw back a few pints.  
The first time they met it was at a whiskey tasting.   
“A mate gave me tickets. It’ll be a laugh.”  
It turned out to be a lecture on whiskey with a shot of twenty different kinds of whiskey to sample. After they were served hors d'oeuvres on live models that were wrapped in plastic and laying on banquet tables. All in all, it was a great evening.  
The next time, he heard from Greg, it was a text.  
 _In a rut. Want to get a tattoo? G.L._  
 _I’d rather shave my head and pierce my tattle! J.W._  
 _Seven ok? G.L._  
They wound up going to a microbrewery. They went on a tour. Some of the beers were rather odd. Not bad, just unusual either in their taste or finish. Least it was different. After, they went out for breakfast.  
Their best time out happened over John’s weekend. Sherlock was both bored and still pouting. Utter silence had been replaced with chronic and sporadic violin torture. John managed about three hours of sleep when it started. Then it would end only to start again an hour later.  
At five in the morning, he got a text.  
 _Fancy a drive? G.L._  
 _Anything! The twat is driving me round the bend! J.W._  
 _Still not talking? G.L._  
 _Not a word. Only violin screeches. If he goes missing it won’t be my fault. J.W._  
 _Going to Paris. Meeting someone special. Tag along and catch up on your sleep. One of us should. ;) G.L._  
 _Ready when you are. J.W._  
John got up and quickly threw together an overnight bag. He stopped in the living room only long enough to get his coat

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John managed to sleep in the car. The morning had been cool and beautiful. John had fallen asleep quickly in the plush rental that Greg drove. They had cleared the Eurotunnel and were well onto the highway by the time John opened his eyes. He stretched, looked around, and slowly woke more fully.  
They stopped a few minutes later at a little shop by the road. Greg ordered a coffee. John ordered tea. They ate chocolate croissants and watched the flow of people go about their day.   
“I have to tell you something important.”  
John put his cup down and waited.  
“I haven’t told you because my partner wasn’t comfortable with it, but now things have changed.” Greg waited a heart beat. “I’m dating a man.”  
John stopped everything. He wasn’t sure that he’d heard right.  
“You’re…gay?” John asked unsure.  
“Bisexual. I’ve known that about me for a long time. I don’t advertise, mate. In my job, it’s best not too.”  
“Right. So you’re warning me because I’ll probably meet your boyfriend-  
“Partner.” Greg smiled. “It’s more serious than a few quickies.”  
“Do you love him?” John asked seriously.  
Greg smiled, lopsided and boyish. “I think I do. Yes. Are you alright with that?”  
“Yeah. I was just wondering if you were happy. It’s serious for him too, right?”  
Greg’s smile broadened. “Yeah. We’re driving his car. We have exchanged house keys. This isn’t new. It’s been building up for a while.”  
“Good,” John said simply. “I’m happy for you. I wish you all the luck in the world, mate.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Sherlock lay on the couch. Face up. Staring at the ceiling. Eyes open. Mind racing out of his control. He had facts, none of which he liked. There was no logic or reason. All he could see was unreasonable chaos. He hated that things weren’t the way that they belonged.  
He turned onto his side and exhaled loudly. Into the empty room. He detested the inability to correct chaos. This chaos was Mycroft’s doing. And John’s hormones were seemingly interrupting his ability to reason. The end result was utter madness.   
Sherlock reached for a pillow. He smashed it over his head and desperately tried to shut off the stream of pictures and stray thoughts that littered his mind making actual productive thought impossible.   
His skin itched.  
A dull pain still lingered in his sinuses. He could still smell it. When John had come close enough, he’d smelled that emaciated cologne that Mycroft preferred. And it was all over John Watson.   
Sherlock only wished that he could delete the information. Eradicate all trace of his thoughts or conclusions. He was sure that there were people who could be happy for them and move on, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. Anyone but John.  
Sherlock simply had to figure out a way to make Mycroft realize again that he simply wasn’t good enough. Only this was John. Sherlock was fairly certain that he wouldn’t allow himself to be made a winner’s prize….damn him.  
Perhaps if Sherlock could devise a way to temp Mycroft into a contest or bet, without John’s knowledge. Such a rouse would undoubtedly cost him. Mycroft was wealthy. He held position and power. His only obvious weakness were: 1) Appeals to his vanity. 2) Their established rivalries, which if approached correctly could prompt Mycroft to action. And, 3) his personal weakness to protect Sherlock.  
A knock at the door.   
He ignored it.  
Again, a knock at the door.  
The door knob turned. Sherlock bothered to spare a glance.  
“Hello.” Male. English.  
“Hello.” Born in Cardiff.  
The man stepped in farther. Low-level government employee. Concealed weapon in jacket. Left side. Military hair cut.  
He smiled. “Excellent. I was told you were home, sir. My name is Cain. I’ve been sent as an assistant.”  
Finger tip missing on right hand. Traumatically removed. Possible gun shot. Badly scarred dominant hand.  
After a heart beat the man said, “By now you suspect that I work for your brother. Mr. Holmes’ office sent me with purpose. If you’ll indulge me.”  
The man left and came back a few moments later with a file box in hand. He left and returned two more times until there were three over burdened file boxes sitting on Sherlock’s messy coffee table.  
Mr. Cain unbuttoned his jacket and sat down opposite Sherlock. He pulled out a note book and a pen.  
“These boxes contain a myriad of potential cases. All available forensic information has been gathered for you. Essentially, sir, I’m-  
“A distraction.”  
Cain smiled handsomely. “Yes. I suppose. I’ve read through your psychological assessment and been given a breakdown of your requirements for companion and colleague. I’m an excellent shot. I have previous combat experience. I was a medic. I’m an expert in various fighting styles with and without weapons. Also, I’m a descent writer. I’ve caught up on Dr. Watson’s blog. I should be able to record any incidents that happen for his approval and editing. Is there anything that you need, Mr. Holmes?”  
Sherlock turned his eyes back to the ceiling.  
Several hours must have passed. Because when he bothered to answer the play of shadow and light across the ceiling was completely different. Two and half hours, if he were to guess.  
“I’ve been told to remain. I’m sorry.”  
“Then get my brother on the phone.”  
“I’m sorry, sir. I believe that he’s on some sort of impromptu holiday. Would you like to look over a murder or perhaps a nice theft?”  
Sherlock angrily flipped himself over and stared at the couch.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

They arrived at an expensive looking hotel that John was sure he couldn’t afford.  
“Your bloke must be loaded,” John murmured.  
“A bit. Honestly, it gets in the way sometimes. I don’t like feeling kept. But sometimes, like this weekend, I let him treat us without fussing.”  
“Really? Your biggest relationship hurtle is that your boyfriend wants to spend his money on you. Meanwhile, I’m living with Sherlock Holmes the drama queen that has never bought milk in his entire existence.”  
“That would be because you indulge him, Doctor.”  
The voice was shockingly familiar. He turned to find Mycroft.  
Mycroft smiled a little. “Sherlock has since childhood been able to prey on the weaknesses of his caretakers. And that most certainly includes you since you can’t stand to watch him starve.”  
“I thought you were going to be late,” Greg said happily.  
“And miss our weekend? There’d have to be a red level incident.”  
Greg was slightly blushing when he turned to John and explained, “That’s Mycroft speak for romantically, sweet pillow talk.”  
Mycroft leaned in and kissed Greg’s temple. Seductively, he said, “I’m seriously considering turning _off_ my mobile.”  
Greg’s blush deepened. “Oh, baby.”  
“Okay, this is weird,” John said simply.  
Mycroft and Greg stared back.  
“Not that your being gay is weird, just you being gay together.”  
“I suppose this is a bit of a shock,” Mycroft said diplomatically.  
“A bit,” John agreed.  
“I hope you understand that aside from my staff you have the honor of being the first person that we have told.”  
“John,” Greg pulled away noticeably from Mycroft. “If this is a problem-  
“No,” John said easily. “I think I’m just…how did this happen?”  
“Let’s discuss it over lunch.” Mycroft took Greg’s hand in his. He pulled the man close as he said, “I’ve made reservations at the hotel restaurant. Tell me that you’re hungry?”  
“Starved. We only had a light breakfast, hours ago.”  
“Then we shall go. Perhaps a quiche.” Mycroft caught himself, “No. A croque monsieur.”  
John quickly asked, “Isn’t that a ham and cheese toastie?”  
Greg shook his head. “It’s so much more than that, John. Deceptively simple, but deliciously complicated.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The Cain man made himself at home going so far as to remove his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.  
The Cain man walked into the living room with a hot cup of tea and a plate of toffee biscuits. The mug and plate were set on the coffee table in front of Sherlock. It was the wrong mug. And it was put in the wrong place.  
Sherlock swung his long legs onto the floor and sat up.  
“Why are you doing this?”  
“Paycheck,” the man countered and calmly sat down.  
“No one likes me. You’ll be miserable.”  
“And I’m sure you’ll do your very best to make me miserable, this is why there are two of us on a rotating schedule. My counterpart arrives at eight in the evening. My counterpart will continue assisting you as needed. It’s my understanding that there may be yet another, however finding person’s with the necessary skill sets isn’t as easy as anticipated.”  
Sherlock sat back against the couch. He peered at the man. “Who did you actually interview with, Mycroft or one of his minions?”  
“First, two minions in ever more serious and in-depth interviews, followed by a face-to-face with Mr. Holmes.”  
“You admire him,” Sherlock accused.  
“He’s a person I’ve heard mentioned in hushed whispers of fear and awe. You’re glad that he’s on our side, but you don’t actually want to meet him.”  
“Being my assistant would put you in exactly that position.”  
“I know. Mr. Holmes already explained. Also, I’m capable of reading between the lines of Dr. Watson’s blog.”  
“You’ll be forced into positions of criminal activities.”  
“I have my own lock pick set.”  
“Doesn’t everyone?” Sherlock retorted. “I can almost guarantee a criminal record.”  
“Already have one, sir.” He smiled. “Wayward youth.”  
“I don’t have emotions. I don’t care much for people.”  
“My job is to make sure that you work; not to ensure that you become a better man.”  
“And the heart of the matter. Reporting to Mycroft.”  
“Unless you endanger your life or start using drugs again, I’m to keep my peace and your privacy.”  
“When something sounds too good to be true…”  
Mr. Cain reached next to him where his jacket lay. He found an envelope and handed it to Sherlock saying, “I was given this for just such a situation.”  
Sherlock took the envelope. He knew that it was Mycroft’s simply by the paper choice and weight. The handwriting was Mycroft’s script.

> John is invaluable to your peace of mind. He assures your continued health and stability. I know this and wish no ill feelings between us. I’ve arranged this all so that you might continue working unimpeded. I wish for nothing but your happiness.  
>  Sincerely,  
>  Your brother Mycroft Holmes 

Inexplicably, Sherlock found himself reading the note several times even thought he’d committed it to memory the first time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

After a terrifically delicious lunch, they retired upstairs. Mycroft booked a deluxe suite. He insisted that John stay in one of the three rooms in the suite and that John should charge what he like the room.   
After, Mycroft and Greg disappeared into their room. John took his overnight bag into his spacious, suite. He fell back onto the plush mattress and promptly fell asleep.  
John woke up several hours later feeling refreshed. The heavy feeling in his head had gone. His limbs weren’t as heavy. Suddenly, the dreariness that had been his life a few hours before was gone.  
John had a quick shower.  
Once dressed, he wandered out of his room. John stopped. He was torn. He would have liked to invite his friends to dinner and drinks. However, he knew just how much they would value their privacy.  
John smiled knowingly and left quietly. His goal was to go down and find the hotel bar. He wanted to have a few pints and a bite to eat. Maybe, just maybe he’d find a nice French girl to chat up.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Mycroft lay stretched out in all his long-legged glory. Greg enjoyed every second. He ran his fingers up the other man’s torso enjoying the feel of his skin. Greg lingered in the patch above Mycroft’s heart. He liked being able to feel it working so sure and powerful.  
“Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”  
Mycroft smiled. He brushed Greg’s hair back enjoying the feel of it slide between his fingers.  
“The one thing that I know about my dear sibling is that he detests change.”  
“Of course, but it might be the start of something. We must have faith.”  
“Faith? In God?” Greg asked amazed.  
Mycroft chuckled. “Certainly not. What I meant to say was that we should have faith that Sherlock’s character will remain constant, and predictable.”  
“Promise me again. If it goes wrong or if it becomes too much.”  
“I shall confess and clear the mess. My word.”  
Mycroft rolled taking Greg with him. Covering his partner with his body, Mycroft easily took control.  
“My turn to be on top. I think you need to be fucked until this worry leaves you. I don’t want you worried. I want you happy.” He planted a kiss on Gregory’s chest.   
“Sleepy.” He kissed a hard nipple.   
“Grateful.” He kissed a shoulder.   
“Horney.” He kissed the other man’s Adam’s apple.   
“Sleepy.” He kissed his lips.  
“Completely satisfied.” He kissed the man’s lips again, but this time Mycroft gently deepened the kiss until they were both hungry.   
Mycroft began to slowly rub their pelvises in little circles so that their cocks brushed with every movement. Bristled flesh. Their movements were driven by hot, silken flesh. Animal need replaced all sense until they were panting and sticky, little better than animals huddled in a nest.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Apparently, it was the helicopter which was spiriting Mycroft away that woke John from a deep dreamless sleep. He walked out of his luxury rooms to find Greg sitting on one of the couches. He looked quite sad.   
John walked around and sat next to the man. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes. He even yawned loudly.  
“He was supposed to stay till after lunch tomorrow. We were going to take a drive down into Loire and have lunch at this little winery. They bottle the wine that we drank on our first official date.”  
“Very romantic.”  
John had to fart. He did his best to keep it in because he didn’t want to ruin the mood.  
Greg smiled sadly. “I’ve been planning it for a while.”  
“Next trip, you might want to lead with that.”  
Greg fell back into the cushions. “We can go back straight away if you want.”  
“Or,” John said carefully. “You could do something really personal. It’s something we did for a mate. We were deep into Kandahar and it was his anniversary. He was so depressed that it was effecting everyone. We fixed up a box with Afghanistan in it and it was sent to his wife. We arranged a video chat, and they both ate MRE’s, on Afgan sand, in uniform. We even sent her a baggie full of local flowers, twigs, and rocks.  
Greg smiled slowly. “I can get his address from Anthea.”  
“We should go to that vineyard. If we hurry and overnight a package, you can still have lunch with him at the vineyard.”  
They did hurry. They checked out of their expensive hotel a day early. Within the first half hour they were on the road. Greg drove while John researched on his phone. What would be the fastest way to get the package to Mycroft that wouldn’t involve a military plane and a top secret stamp.  
They arrived at the vineyard by 0945. They burst in, introducing themselves to the proprietors, full of ideas and inventions. They bought two boxes full of small jars and wandered around the vineyard collecting odds and ends: dirt, grape leaves, grass, river water, flowers, rocks, and wild herbs. They packaged the jars with a good bottle of wine, fresh grapes, olives, crackers, fig jam, and good cheese.   
John and Greg called Anthea and immediately got her involved. She was sworn to secrecy, not that they thought for a moment that Mycroft wasn’t capable of discovering the plot afoot. Still it was nice to dream.  
They spent the night in a nearby Inn. At noon the next day, Greg was sitting on a lovely, sunny porch that smelled of jasmine. Mycroft called in on Greg’s computer. A platter of the same food they’d sent Mycroft was in front of him. Their special wine was breathing and ready.  
“Should I be surprised that you’ve managed to compromise my security and staff while moving my schedule around?”   
“It was meant as a romantic gesture for the dead sexy man that I’m in love with.”  
John could tell by Greg’s face that it was first time he’d said those words aloud. He walked away quietly leaving them their privacy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

They drove back slowly enjoying the drive and music that Greg insisted on playing loudly.  
When they arrived at 221B Baker Street, Greg turned off the car and said, “Thanks. You’re a good friend, John. That could have been a really bad end to a really great weekend.”  
Greg reached back and pulled out a small glass jar. He gave it John saying, “A memento.”  
John couldn’t help the smile. “I’m glad you’re happy. You make a good couple.”  
“How about we meet for a few pints later this week?”  
“Sounds good. If Sherlock’s still in a strop, I’ll probably need it.”  
John exited the car and walked around to the truck. He got his bag and tapped the car the moment the trunk was closed. He waved goodbye to his friend and went in happily.  
John walked up, unlocked the front door, and let himself in. All seemed normal. No strange sounds or smells. John went up.  
He stopped the hang his coat when he heard a strange voice say, “Is that you, Doctor Watson?”  
The man that walked out into sight was tall, well dressed, and good looking. “I’m Mr. Cain, Doctor. Mr. Holmes has recruited me to help his brother through his boredom. My job is to take up the slack left when you are work or otherwise engaged.”  
John wasn’t sure how to respond. So, he said, “Oh, good. Are you two getting on then?”  
Cain didn’t react much. He simply said, “We’re talking. He slips into long periods of intense thought.”  
“He’s brooding. Just let him be. Eventually, he comes out of it and finds something of interest. That’s usually when we get an infusion of human parts into the flat.”  
“I see. Thank you for the information.”  
Mr. Cain walked away and sat down opposite Sherlock. Sherlock was still where John had left him a few days ago. He was still wearing the same clothes.   
“I call him John Two, the new and improved version since he does as he’s told. John Three, on the night shift, makes better tea.”  
John wasn’t sure what Mycroft was up too or why Sherlock seemed to be going along with it.   
“You’re carrying a jar of dirt.”  
John looked down. He’d forgotten that it was even there.  
“Memento,” John said. “I’m going to unpack. I have to make an appearance at work.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Sherlock left the house because he couldn’t stand it any longer. When he noticed Cain following him like a dog, Sherlock in no uncertain terms told him that he was unwanted. The man neither argued nor seemed put out, he simply turned and went back into 221B.  
Sherlock hailed a cab already far more bothered than previous. Thoughts of John seemed to permeate his head. Or rather, ridiculous concerns. The majority of his career, his elder brother had managed to remain unattached, aside from several short lived affairs.  
John and Mycroft the idea made no sense to him. But, the evidence was impossible to ignore: the handwritten note from Mycroft to John, take-away from Mycroft’s favorite pub, Mycroft’s cologne all over John on more than one occasion, and evidence of kissing on John. All else could be explained, even the weekend away…in Paris. Even that John’s text messages and emails had lately been deleted and irretrievable. Sherlock could come up with two good reasons and one not so good reason for it all.  
Thoughts of that idiotic jar of dirt came to mind…again. Sentiment. A simple word for that could mean so many different emotions. He felt uncomfortable without additional empirical proof. And that fact made his skin prickle and itch.  
Sherlock had to be sure. And that meant looking Mycroft in the eye.   
It was the only way.   
The taxi dropped him off at a small, non-descript building. It had no signage outside. There wasn’t even a number on the edifice. And of course, the building was plush and elegant without being ostentatious. It might as well have had Mycroft’s calling card out front.   
Sherlock walked right in. He ignored the security in jackets and ear buds as usual. He took the elevator up. Mycroft’s assistant was standing in the hallway speaking to someone when she spotted Sherlock. He saw her pick up a phone and speak into it. Otherwise, she didn’t acknowledge him.   
Sherlock walked into Mycroft’s office and found him sitting at his desk closing up and gathering the files littering his desk.   
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your barging in?”  
Sherlock’s eye went directly to the jar of dirt on Mycroft’s desk.   
“I needed to talk to you.”  
Mycroft stopped everything.   
He looked up at his brother and studied him momentarily. Then, he went back to gathering his files. “Although I find that suspicious, you have my attention. Has something happened?”  
Sherlock walked to the side of Mycroft’s desk. His eyes scanning. “Nothing dire. I merely have concerns.”  
Mycroft stood and took a step closer.  
That’s when Sherlock smelled it. Cologne. Reapplied recently. Overlaid above the smell of generic soap. Sherlock reared back and punched Mycroft in the face.   
Mycroft fell back harshly.   
Sherlock was far too angry. He had to take a few steps away.  
A moment later, the assistant burst in.   
“Sir!”  
“Fine!” Mycroft huffed. Still on the floor. He sat up and reached into an inside pocket in his jacket. Mycroft pulled out a handkerchief and held it over his nose. “Thank you, my dear,” he said calmly.   
Mycroft slowly got up.   
“I’m fine. Sibling non-sense.”  
She didn’t advance, but she also didn’t retreat out of the room.  
Mycroft straightened his suit. “Should I ask what brought this on? Or, am I to guess?”  
“You’ve had sex today! You’ve showered not in your home! Those aren’t your products I smell!” Sherlock accused loudly. His anger returned with every word as he voiced the obvious.  
“I don’t understand what has this to do with you?”  
“John only left the flat to go to work a half hour ago.” Sherlock’s range could only be masked by his disgust. “You’re being unfaithful!”  
Mycroft sighed. “Brother dear, while you are a good consultant detective, you make only a passable human being. Your understanding of romantic motivations and emotions is tentative at best.”  
“I shall inform him if you don’t call it off.”  
“I shall do no such thing and neither shall you. All you’d accomplish is hurting him.”  
Sherlock turned and started stomping out.  
“Brother.”  
Sherlock stopped.   
“Ignorance can be bliss.”  
Sherlock waked out but not before harshly shoving the door out of his way. It hit the wall with a satisfying bang that probably left a dent in the plaster. He walked away. 


	3. THE BRILLIANCE OF A NEW PLAN

Sherlock made his way home. So lost was he in thought that the cabbie had to shake him to rouse him.  
He walked in and up still in a fog.  
The fog lifted when he walked inside and heard John talking and laughing with Cain. Sherlock walked in slowly. There was Chinese takeaway on the table. It was from their place. Sherlock already saw his egg rolls.  
“Are you hungry?” John asked before even turning to face Sherlock.  
Sherlock nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak.  
He wandered over and sat in his usual chair. John set a plate and put two egg rolls on his plate. His duck sauce, prepared horseradish, and hot mustard were already dispensed into little bowls for easy dipping.  
“I also got some of the rice that you like; if you’re interested.”  
“Roast pork fried rice? Extra bean sprouts, extra peas?”  
John suddenly looked annoyed.  
“How long have I known you?” he retorted. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the annoyance was gone. “Sit. I’ll get your tea.”  
Sherlock watched John moving around. Sherlock’s tea was quickly made. Despite his insistence, neither of the neo-John’s could get it right. This would be the first descent cup in days.  
John sat. He picked up his utensils and continued eating. He stopped and looked at Sherlock. “Everything alright?”  
“Yes,” Sherlock said looking away.  
“You’ll feel better if you eat.”  
Despite his hunger having dissipated, Sherlock picked up an egg roll and began eating.  
John turned to Cain. “Only from Cho’s make sure there’s prepared horseradish in the fridge. You have to take advantage of those after case munchies, or he gets too thin.”  
Sherlock ate without comment. He listened as John and Cain discussed the best ways in which to see to Sherlock’s needs.  
Sherlock finished two egg rolls and had rice to finish off his meal.  
He walked into the living room and stretched out on the couch.  
He needed to think.  
Sometime later, Sherlock called out, “John!”  
“He’s gone to bed, Mr. Holmes.”  
Sherlock looked at the speaker. It was John Three, the other John replacement. This one was a woman. Chronically single, but far too hopeful. Two cats. Occasional smoking habit. Enjoyed drinking more often than not. Nurse. Vegetarian.  
Sherlock rose.  
“Stay,” he commanded.  
Sherlock went straight to John’s room. He walked in and turned the lights on.  
“John are you awake?”  
John roused, scrunched his face, and covered his eyes. “Ugh! Bloody hell! I’m never going to get used this kind of thing.”  
“I have questions.”  
“Of course you do.” John sat up rubbing his eyes.  
“It’s been a while since you’ve had a girlfriend,” Sherlock stated factually.  
“I hit a dry spell after Jenny. You chased her off after you pointed out to a roomful of people that she had a vestigial tail.”  
“I liked her,” Sherlock countered defensively.  
“You said she was one step up from lab monkey and asked her for a sample of her tail!”  
“I would have been careful. It’s not as if I wanted the entire thing. I just haven’t gotten to study a human tail before.”  
John opened his mouth but thought better before any sound could come out. Instead, he slapped his hand across his face and scrubbed.  
“Why,” John asked. “Are you here?”  
“I think we should go to a pub.”  
John cocked his head. “I’m sorry. The severe lack of sleep has lead to deliria. What did you say?”  
“A pub. Isn’t that where you often meet the desperate women that you have often brought home for a shag before they sneak out in the morning?”  
John felt a twitch in his face.  
“This is one of the more odd conversations that we’ve had. I feel a bit as if I’m going insane.”  
“On occasion you’ve accused me of not participating in the human condition.”  
John continued to watch incredulously, but managed to say, “Yeah.”  
Sherlock swallowed hard. Carefully, he voiced, “Let’s go. We shall…pick up companions and do what young lovers do.”  
“And what’s that?”  
“How would I know!” Sherlock snapped. “Isn’t that your point of expertise! My point is that the greater the exposure to sexual available adults the greater the chances of meeting someone compatible.”  
“For me? Or, you?”  
Sherlock met John’s eyes and then looked away quickly. As he left, he said, “I’ll give it a try, if you do. Maybe one of us will get lucky and there will be a tail.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The next day John got up extra early. He left ready for work, but made one very important stop in the opposite direction from work. He got lucky. Despite the early hour, Mycroft was in his office.  
John walked right in and asked, “What did you do?”  
“Doctor,” Mycroft greeted without looking up from his work. “I know that I have a reputation for near omniscience but some statements are yet beyond me.”  
“Last night Sherlock walked into my bedroom and told me that he wanted to go to a pub and find girls! For me! For him! It sounded…it sounded incredible is what it sounded!” John heard his voice growing ever louder. He closed his eyes in an effort to calm down.  
When John opened his eyes Mycroft was standing and facing him.  
“What happened to your face?”  
“My brother came in and realized that earlier that day I had engaged in what some refer to as a _‘nooner’_ and he knew that you were at work.”  
“Why would that…  
John reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
“Just think, Doctor. Sherlock on a date. This would be the first ever.”  
John wanted him to stop talking.  
“To memory Sherlock has never shown interest in anything other than showing off his intellect.”  
Despite his attempt to calm himself. It slipped out. “You incredible bastard!”  
John heard the door open smoothly behind him. He turned to find the woman who called herself Anthea quietly standing by the door, hands behind her back. Her phone noticeably missing. He knew at a glance that she was armed and willing to shoot.  
“I’m going to tell him.”  
“Tell him what?”  
“That you’re a manipulating sod! That you’re playing with his perceptions!”  
Mycroft smiled sadly. “That’s too bad. I’ve always wondered what it would be like; Sherlock on a date.” Mycroft turned to John and asked, “Do you suppose he would pick a woman? A man? Or perhaps an in-between sex? He does have trouble conforming to social norms.”  
John looked right into Mycroft’s all knowing eyes and said, “I really hate you.”  
“Oddly enough, I’ve heard this before.” Mycroft walked around his desk saying, “However, for all of my faults I have handed you an interesting situation. Tell the truth and he retreats back behind that impenetrable wall. Keep the illusion for one more night and something of note may happen.”  
“Why are you doing this?”  
“Sherlock values intelligence above all else. Emotions, happiness, health: these things are supplemental…if that. During the course of our lives, I’ve encouraged this behavior.”  
“But now you have Greg.”  
“And I have a much more keen understanding of the more ephemeral benefits that come with sharing one’s life with a partner. I don’t want him to be alone his entire life, John.”  
“You bastard,” John hissed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure at all.  
He got ready like any other evening out. He showered, dressed, and made sure that his hair was right. The day had been humid and it had started to frizz. It took a little extra product to get it to shine and curl just a bit.  
He went downstairs to find Sherlock ready, and sitting in a chair. He was pensive as evidenced by the non-thinking posture. He was instantly aware of John in the room.  
John found it incredibly odd.  
Still he tried to look and sound as if they did this every day. “Ready?”  
“I was waiting for you to finish your primping.”  
“We can’t all be naturally pretty.”  
Sherlock didn’t respond. Instead, he rose gracefully and adjusted his fitted shirt.  
They didn’t speak. Instead, they bundled up against the evening chill. Coasts, scarves, and gloves.  
They walked out in the usual order. Sherlock bounded ahead. John shut their flat’s door. Sherlock stopped only when he got outside. He breathed in deeply soaking in the outside. As John shut and secured the front door, Sherlock hailed a cab.  
John knew all the pubs in the area. A few were nice enough that he frequented them often enough. But this was no ordinary night. He wanted a pub that would be a good fit, if there even was such a thing. In the least he wanted a place that had a good mix of people. They needed as non-judgmental an environment as possible, with an eclectic group of people.  
The pubs near Baker Street were full of regulars. Only one pub welcomed gay men and there weren’t any women who frequented it who’d welcome being chatted up by a bloke. So John’s choice was a pub that he’d gone to a few times when he was still living at the bed sit.  
John led the way inside. He looked around and found a good table. It wasn’t too close to the bar but central so that they could see everything and everyone.  
Only a few moments after they sat, Sherlock asked, “May I ask questions?”  
“I highly encourage it.”  
His sharp eyes were systematically scanning the people around them. Observing minor details, making vast connections from seemingly irrelevant data, so that he could weave it together in his mind into a prediction of human behavior.  
“This clearly isn’t your regular pub. Why here? There’s clearly an ulterior reason why you chose it.”  
“I thought the best place to take you would be a pub with a good selection of potential companions.” John couldn’t help patting himself on the back. He’d actually prepared for that question.  
“I see,” Sherlock said quite non-committal.  
A waitress came by. They ordered a few pints.  
“John,” Sherlock said in that tone. His eyes were sharply focused.  
For a second, John wasn’t sure if they were about to run after someone or duck a few bullets.  
“I’ll be right back,” Sherlock said a moment later.  
John felt the tension leave him slowly.  
He watched Sherlock approach a man at the bar. For a moment, John wasn’t sure what to think as he saw Sherlock put his hand on the man’s shoulder, lean in, and whisper. The man seemed shocked.  
Sherlock turned and walked back to rejoin John.  
“What that’s all?” John asked, ready to give advice and helpful hints if need be.  
“Yes. That man was unaware that the woman he was about to go home with was underaged.”  
“Oh, anyone caught your eye?”  
“There are several underaged females in here at the moment, possibly from the same secondary on dare?”  
In his annoyance, John smiled, “Alright, let’s try this another way. Let’s play deductive pub. The point of this game is for Sherlock to find the smartest person in the room who is not himself.”  
“Easy,” Sherlock countered.  
“This person must be highly patient and accepting,” John added.  
“Not usually traits I search for.” Sherlock was already scanning the patrons. After a few sweeps, he said, “Got one who could potentially fill the requirements.”  
John followed Sherlock’s gaze to an older man at the bar. He was dressed in a suit and seemed a bit out of place.  
“Old suit, chalk on the sleeve, and a university ring imply that he’s a professor of some kind. The pin on his tie, even from this distance I can tell it’s the Swedish Physical Society. The Swedes have a conference in town this week on the other side of London. He’s traveled to stand at that bar. He’s married, looking for easy sex, but doesn’t want it getting back to anyone he might know.”  
“How do you know that he’s patient and accepting?”  
“The girl he’s chatting up is blind.”  
John did a double take. He saw the folded cane in the young woman’s right hand. “Prat,” John hissed.  
Their beers arrived.  
“I won,” Sherlock said simply as the first beer his the table top.  
John thanked the waitress.  
He waited for the girl to leave before he said, “Yes, I should have emphasized _single_ , smart, patient, and accepting.”  
“You’re angry,” Sherlock huffed in amazement. “But not at me.”  
Sherlock followed John’s eyes back to the cheating Swede. Sherlock picked up his beer and took a drink. “Very well,” he said determinately.  
Sherlock walked away from their table. He made a bee line for the cheating Swede.  
“Professor!” Sherlock gushed. “It’s so nice to see you again. It’s been ages. We met at the conference in Uppsala. You lectured. I got to meet your lovely wife. How is she and your children?”  
“You have me mistaken!” the man insisted.  
“No. Professor Ericsson of Uppsala University. You have a wife and two little girls. You have a lecture tomorrow at the conference. All of my friends were talking about it.”  
That was about all it took. Sherlock didn’t even bother to stay. He returned to the table.  
John watched the spooked Swede run off constantly looking back.  
“You never cease to amaze me, you cleaver bastard,” John beamed.  
Despite the fact that Sherlock looked a bit bored, he cracked a little smile.  
“You hate this, don’t you?” John didn’t even wait for a response. He leaned in and asked, “Why did you want to do this? I really, really want to know.”  
“Isn’t this the most common and socially acceptable manner in which to meet a potential partner?”  
“Are you telling me that you’re lonely?”  
“Of course not. I have you. I have my work.”  
“That’s not the same, Sherlock. Our relationship can’t possibly fulfill your need for intimacy.”  
Sherlock fell silent. He thought very carefully before he spoke. “In the time that we have known each other you’ve never been serious about anyone. Your relationships have all been convenient, easy.”  
“You drive away most of them,” John argued.  
“If any had meant anything you wouldn’t come so quickly when I text. Or, when I say _dangerous_. Or, _murderer_.”  
“Is that why you monopolize my time? Because you can?”  
For a moment Sherlock went stock still. He met John’s eyes and held them. Carefully, he said, “Tell me that you’ve met someone that matter’s and I’ll stop. I’ll respect your right to carry on. Privacy. Boundaries. Respect.”  
Neither of them breathed for a few long seconds.  
John finally shook his head.  
He looked down at his untouched beer and said, “I’m starving. This place has a good Sheppard’s pie.”  
“Will they give me extra peas?” Sherlock asked picking at the table.  
John smiled. “Only if you ask the waitress nicely.”  
Twenty minutes later they had two scotch eggs as appetizers and two Sheppard’s pies, one with extra peas.  
By the way he was eating, John could tell Sherlock hadn’t eaten since John had made breakfast.  
John casually said, “I’m sometimes astounded that you can be so acutely aware of everyone, but yourself.”  
Sherlock sniffed, screwing his face up tightly, but otherwise ignoring the comment.  
“Sherlock you ignore everything but your own intellectual prowess.”  
“I’m fine,” Sherlock said scooping up a pea heavy spoonful of potatoes and gravy.  
“No. You are fine when I’m looking out for you.”  
“Do you plan on leaving?”  
“I feel as if we’re talking in circles.” John put his fork down. A moment later, he said, “Wait. You suspect something, don’t you? You’re trying to be…what? Subtle? Caring? Concerned?”  
Sherlock stopped chewing. His eyes went to the table top and stayed there.  
“This is real,” John realized. John’s face fell. “No. Whatever you are thinking. No.”  
“I have evidence, John. It can only be explained in several-  
“Mycroft is dating Greg.”  
“But…”  
John could see Sherlock’s mind race. A thousand thoughts speeding along in the most complex mind he’d ever encountered.  
“Mycroft’s cologne on your clothes.”  
“Greg asked me to go shopping with him.”  
Sherlock slowly started to look away. “There’s a jar,” he said accusingly. “A jar of dirt and sentiment.”  
“You were driving me nuts. Greg invited me on a weekend. I didn’t know that Mycroft would be there. The jar is a memento from the vineyard we visited.”  
“Mycroft,” Sherlock growled.  
“I’ll admit that he’s a bit of a prick. But he’s nothing but your best interest at heart.”  
Sherlock leaned in and hissed, “So long as I alter _‘my’_ behavior for _‘his’ ___convenience!”  
“First, I know that he loves you. Second, neither of you know how to deal with emotions properly. And third, you’re a stubborn, narcissistic, dick, but you came out to the last place I ever would have believed for a date. Granted, you didn’t pick anyone up. But you’re here.”  
“He wasn’t right. You’re the only one that…” Sherlock shook his head. Still unable to look up. “Can we just eat and go?”  
“Like none of this ever happened,” John agreed.  
They both smiled a little and began eating again. 


	4. A SHIFT IN PERCEPTION

John was in his chair catching up on the latest medical literature. Sherlock was in his chair lazily picking stray notes on his violin.  
While they hadn’t had a proper case in more than three weeks everything was fine. Sherlock dismissed the would-be-John’s, but kept the boxes of files. Sherlock went through most of the boxes without John. Each required some sort of experimentation, mess, or miscellaneous small lunacy. A total of four required leg work.  
In total Sherlock solved fifty three unsolved murders and theft’s. It took a total of eighteen days. John managed to get more than a few meals into the man by getting him to agree to stop for something quick every second case solved. Sherlock was productive. And John reminded him of their deal often so he could capitalize.   
It turned out to be one of the most food filled eighteen days for Sherlock that John could remember. John even went so far as to give a recounting on the blog of what they ate, where, and when. The more foodie readers were quite responsive, even to the point of making restaurant recommendations.  
“It’s enough,” Sherlock said all of a sudden.  
“What’s enough. I haven’t done anything.”  
“You said, our relationship can’t possibly fulfill my needs for intimacy.”  
John put down his medical journal. “That was weeks ago.”  
“Don’t state the obvious, John.”  
John shook his head. He thought for a moment and said, “It shouldn’t. You could have so much more.”  
“I don’t require it.”  
“You haven’t experienced it. Just because you’re capable of repressing emotional and physical needs doesn’t mean that it’s good for you.”  
“John, I don’t empathize well. I’m stubborn, narcissistic, and drive people away.”  
“I’m with you so far.”  
“You and Mycroft are the only people who have ever accepted me as I am. And, he isn’t always good with leaving me as I am.”  
“Well, Mycroft likes control. As for the rest, if you’re not willing to risk, you’ll never get anything.”  
Sherlock didn’t move. Judging by his silence John knew that he was deep in thought, completely overanalyzing every word they’d just exchanged. He picked his medical journal up and went back to reading until such a time as Sherlock was ready to pick up the conversation again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

A day later they ere running for their lives on the docks. They managed to reach a cargo box yard. As the bullets began flying around them they disappeared into the maze of giant cargo boxes. Sherlock charted a convoluted course, even John had trouble keeping up with the man  
As soon as they were clear, Sherlock climbed up the side of a cargo box. John followed. They lay atop of the cargo container. Sherlock relaxed back instantly. His hands were in prayer pose under his chin. John pulled his gun out and kept it ready. His ears pricking at any little noise.   
They lay together until the chase was over. The men that were chasing them finished cursing out at losing them and moved beyond hearing. Still they lay next to each other staring at the heavens.   
“I’ve decided that I don’t want anything to change,” Sherlock said into the night.  
John quietly whispered, “They could be out there.”  
“They left some time ago. We’re safe.”  
In his normal voice, John demanded, “Then why are we still up here?”  
Sherlock simply answered, “I like the stars tonight. They help me think.”  
John didn’t respond. He put his weapon away. John put his hands under his head and tried to relax.  
“Now a part of me is actually sorry that I was mistaken about Mycroft and you.”  
“You were so opposed earlier.”  
“And now I’ve had time to think. Such a union would have meant that you would always be near. No more bubble headed idiots entering our lives, disturbing our work. Mycroft, in the least, understands the work.”  
“Maybe I ought to make a pass at him. After all, he and Greg aren’t married yet?”  
“Really?” Sherlock said picking his head up.  
“No! Of course not. Greg is our friend,” John said firmly.  
Sherlock dropped his head making a dull metal thud. There was an instant pout.  
“Are you serious?” John huffed. “Of course you are.” John let go of the building frustration in a long practiced breath.  
“I’ve noticed you do that. Does it help?”  
“Sometimes.” Undaunted, John then said, “Let me see if my little mind is able to grasp this properly. You now want me to bring home a gay relationship because it’s more convenient to your life.”  
“Don’t you see how much better it would be for our lives? You would have a relationship with an understanding person that wouldn’t leave and we could still work.”  
“Brilliant plan. Logical. Almost flawless. Except for that little part about my not wanting to be with Mycroft.”  
“Details.”  
“Prat.”  
Sherlock fell silent again.  
“Sherlock,” John said nudging the other man with his foot. “I’m freezing. We should go.”  
“Oh…yes. I often forget.”  
They climbed down and slowly made their way out.  
The walk to a main road where they could catch a cab was long enough to warrant further discussion.  
“So basically, you’re worried that I’ll wind up with someone who could take me away from what you consider normal, thereby disrupting your every day.”  
“Precisely.”  
“Well, while I can appreciate your need to keep exterior distractions to a minimum, it all just seems extremely unlikely.”  
Sherlock stopped in mid-stride. He looked extremely upset. For a moment John was sure that he’d said the wrong thing and the man would have a strop right there in the middle of the freezing, cold street. But then, Sherlock continued walking and all was well.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John was dead asleep. It was the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that he didn’t often get to enjoy. Unfettered by nightmares, emotional upheaval, or phantom pain, it was bliss…right until he was abruptly awoken.  
The lights went on as his foggy mind just about registered the words, “I have it, John! I have the answer to all our problems!  
There was a momentary pause.  
“Are you _still_ sleeping?”  
“Trying,” John said turning away from Sherlock. John burrowed under the blanket in an effort to getaway from the sound and light.  
John was taken completely by surprise as the other man got into bed next to him. John woke up fully, quite instantaneously. He turned over and looked. Sherlock was indeed stretched out on his bed.  
“What,” was all John could say.  
Fingertips joined, Sherlock stared straight up at the ceiling with utmost concentration.  
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” John gasped as he realized that he wasn’t going to be getting back to his dreamless utopia anytime soon. He suddenly felt very tired and lay back down. “It was such good sleep, Sherlock,” John whined. “All I want is more of it.”  
“I have the answer,” Sherlock repeated in a deep monotone.   
“Great,” John moaned. He started to let go. He felt himself begin to drift gently.  
“I’ve thought about this very carefully.”  
John growled. He grabbed his pillow and squeezed it mercilessly.  
“You make poor choices, John. If you continue on this road, you will continue to choose poorly.” Sherlock turned his head towards John and added, “I must take away your privilege to choose a partner or you’ll muck it up.”  
John couldn’t help the laughter. It bubbled out of him uncontrollably. He laughed until he hurt. He was out of breath and his face felt hot.  
When he was able, John said, “You’re an unbelievable prick. Turn my lights out.”  
“I don’t require sleep.”  
“I do,” John explained sluggishly.  
“This is compromise,” Sherlock said suddenly understanding. “Yes. I suppose this will have to happen. To equalize our partnership and to maintain the status quo when needed.”  
To john’s surprise, he felt Sherlock get out of bed. The lights went out.  
John’s eyes went heavy almost instantly. He didn’t stir much when he felt Sherlock get back into bed beside’s him. John was just too tired to complain

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John woke up with a warm weight across his chest.  
He opened his eyes to find a riot of messy, dark curls. It took him a few seconds. When he finally realized that it was his roommate, John went stock still. He quickly thought back to the previous night.  
“Sleeping,” Sherlock protested against all the movement.  
“That’s ironic,” John countered. “You have your own room.”  
“I know, but I might as well get used to sharing if we’re to be a couple.”  
“What? No.”  
“John,” Sherlock said popping up off John’s chest. “My rest is concluded if you insist on moving about.”  
Sherlock got up. The sheets fell away from the man’s naked body. Still, he managed to steal a sheet. He wrapped it around himself as he wandered away.  
John fell back into his pillow unable to speak. He stared up at his ceiling as he wondered what had just happened.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John was a little slower to get going than usual. The reptilian part of his brain didn’t want to go down and find out if the conversation had been real or part of some grand experiment.  
But he was hungry and he smelled hot food. He figured it was an open window and the smell from Speedy’s downstairs was wafting in. An eggy in a basket with a few rations of bacon sounded heavenly. John pulled on a jumper over his head as he imagined someone bringing him several cups of hot tea.  
He bounded down the stairs only to come to a crashing halt by the door. John turned. He was seeing but he wasn’t sure if he believed.  
The kitchen table was cleared off of lab equipment, chemicals, and various experiments. In its place was a table cloth, and a setting for two. On each plate sat fried mushrooms and sliced tomatoes. A steaming tea pot sat at the center wrapped with a cozy. John simply didn’t know what to make of it.  
Sherlock walked out of the kitchen with a platter of bacon rations and a pan. An eggy in a basket was sitting in the pan still sizzling.  
“You’re usually quite hungry on mornings where you haven’t been drinking the night before and yet have to report at the clinic.”  
John didn’t dare speak lest the illusion dissipate.  
He walked slowly to the table and sat. The eggy in the basket was placed on the plate in front of John. A second plate of toast arrived a moment later. John looked at the bounty before him and wondered.   
“I thought you’d like it?” Sherlock hesitated by the other end of the table.  
John nodded. “Are you testing poison? Germs? Psychedelics?”  
“I only tested on you once…for expediency.”  
“The one and only one time you brought me a food item.”  
Sherlock looked at the opposite wall. His lips were tight and his body stiff.   
John braced himself.  
Despite what he expected, Sherlock turned and said, “I apologize for testing a possible contagion on you. Because now you don’t trust me. Your breakfast isn’t contaminated in any way.”  
John watched Sherlock for a long minute. Finally, he said, “Eat with me. I’ll eat anything you want, if you eat with me.”  
Sherlock left. He came back with a second pan holding another eggy in a basket.  
John watched incredulously as Sherlock served himself with a heaping plate.   
John began eating: Sherlock more or less matched him bite-for-bite. 


	5. SETTING THE GROUND RULES

There was a double murder. They were called in, not because the murderer was unknown, but because the police were unsure how the murders occurred.  
Sherlock moved around the crime scene with purpose. The seriousness of concentration broadcast across his brow. His collapsible magnifying glass was out and constantly being snapped open and clicked closed. He moved efficiently from one aspect of the crime scene to another.   
Clearly, he was in joy.  
John stood by quietly watching as he tried to stay out of the way.  
It was Greg that wandered over to John. He leaned in close to John and whispered, “I hear congratulations are in order.”  
John turned his head and met Greg’s eye. “He let me know last night.”  
Greg smiled. “This is somehow fitting.”  
“He made me breakfast.”  
The smile on Greg’s face waned a little.  
“Then se sat down and ate a big breakfast.”  
The smile completely melted away. “Is he sick?”  
“From what I can gather, he and I are a good duo and that can’t be allowed to change. My taste in partners is questionable so he’s chosen one that fits in with our crime fighting lifestyle.”  
“Him?”  
“Apparently.”  
“Have you shagged?” He asked out of morbid curiosity.  
“He crawled into bed with me last night. Naked”  
“Unless there was-  
“No.”  
“Then you haven’t shagged.”  
“I’m sure he’ll let me know when it’s time.  
Greg giggled but quickly managed to get a grip on it. Greg walked away to stand at the other end of the room.  
So when Sherlock unleashed his theory of the murder, John returned Greg’s previous smile. Sherlock began his recitation of the double murder’s events by saying, “This is so simple that it astounds me that I would even be called for! A child could see the obvious!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John had a long day. He’d gotten up only to find Sherlock stark naked in his bed again. It was frustrating that the man felt entitled to climb in and out of bed with John. Locking the door was an exercise in futility. And nothing John could argue would convince Sherlock that his logic might be flawed.  
He’d gone into work. There had been a lot of patients. John had been so busy that he’d forgotten to eat. By the time he walked out, he was tired.  
John had to stop off to buy food since breakfast had used up the last of the milk, jam, and bread to feed Sherlock. John had managed a slice of bread. There hadn’t been any eggs or bacon. He’d wound up having a can of green beans to round out his meal. So John stepped off and picked up everything, including what he needed for dinner.  
It was cashing out that John realized he may have bought more than he could carry. Still they needed it all. He grabbed his packages as best as he could and wandered out. He kept his grip but his hands hurt by the end of the block.  
When the black sedan pulled up to the curb. John felt annoyance fill him.  
The window went down. Mycroft gave a little smile and said, “I believe that I’m on my way to see my brother. I assure you, Doctor, there is no ulterior motive involved.”  
The window rolled up.  
John considered the distance and the weight of the bags.  
The car door opened.  
John exhaled.  
He got in.  
The ride was mercifully quiet. There were times that he was glad Mycroft didn’t engage in idle chit chat.  
Mycroft even helped carry a few bags. John found it suspicious but wasn’t ready to turn down the help.  
Sherlock was up from the couch the moment he saw Mycroft, but he didn’t comment.  
John left them to it.   
Instead, he put the groceries away and started dinner. He was hungry and opted for something simple.   
He left the bag of frozen peas in the sink to defrost and set water to boil for the pasta.   
He had a jar of store bought sauce but already knew Sherlock would turn his nose up at it. He had to chop and fry onions, garlic, celery, and peppers. He added finely chopped mushrooms and left it all cook down before he could add the sauce.  
“John!”  
John set the lid on the sauce and turned the heat down low.  
He walked into the living room to find the two brothers sitting comfortably.  
“Mycroft has news,” Sherlock said simply.  
“It seems that last night, Gregory and I were discussing matters. He made a very good point that I haven’t considered.”  
“You? Must have been some discussion.”  
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to cut in, “Mycroft doesn’t imagine that I’ve ever evolved passed six years of age.”  
“That’s because you haven’t,” Mycroft retorted quickly. “However,” Mycroft said poignantly. “As my significant other has pointed out, you are a stable and level headed component to my brother’s life. Originally, his trust fund was made inaccessible because of his drug use.”  
“Mycroft,” John said carefully. “He hasn’t used the entire time that I’ve known him.”  
“Quite my point,” Mycroft responded. “While he has done incredibly well, Sherlock will always have this weakness. But you do not. I know that you will and do care for him. Therefore, I’m going to permit you access on the condition that you use the money solely for Sherlock’s benefit.”  
“Finally,” Sherlock exclaimed. “I have an entire list of things that I need for my experiments!”  
“You’re not getting a flame thrower!” John barked immediately.  
Mycroft smiled. “Precisely why I’ve made this decision, Doctor.” Mycroft pulled his briefcase up onto his lap. He pulled out a folder and handed it to John saying, “Sign where indicated.”  
John held the folder and studied it’s beige surface. “Are you both sure about this?”  
“You’re always complaining that I don’t buy groceries.”  
“No. I’m always complaining that you don’t buy milk. I steal money out of your wallet so that you’re contributing to the grocery budget regularly.”  
“And now, I’ll be able to buy all the groceries. Also, I’d like a fetal pig and some liquid nitrogen.”  
“No potentially dangerous chemicals in the flat. We’ll talk abut the pig later.”  
Mycroft offered John a pen. Hesitantly, John took it and signed.  
As John handed the signed paper back, he ventured to ask, “So what kind of spending limits are there?”  
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spend more than $60,000 a year.”  
Mycroft put the papers into his briefcase and then pulled out a white envelope.  
Closing his briefcase, Mycroft said, “I do so hope that you will both forgive me, but I have agreed to meet Gregory for dinner. I fear that I might be late if I don’t leave now.”  
John watched the man leave.  
The door to their flat closed behind him.  
“You’re making pasta. Bowtie?”  
“Bowtie. The peas are defrosting in the sink.”   
Sherlock smiled and sat back.  
“Did you brother just give me all of your money?”  
“Yes. And I’ll give you a list of supplies to review later. Also, I’d like new clothes.”  
“All designer labels, I’m sure.” John shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t catch fire, emit noxious gas, or go boom.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John was already in bed.  
It was particularly cold out. The flat felt as if were holding onto the cold despite the furnace’s best efforts. John had his warmest pajamas on. The electric blanket was draped over him and a hot cup of herbal tea was in his hands.   
On his fourth sip he heard someone just outside of his room. On his fifth sip, he heard the lock being manipulated. On his sixth sip, Sherlock hurried in wrapped in a sheet.   
He ran in and jumped into bed. John did his best to keep his tea in the cup.  
“You wouldn’t be so cold if you wore more to bed.”  
In response, Sherlock burrowed until his dark curls disappeared. Then he snuggled closer to John. A moment later, he went still.  
John finished his tea.  
He even read a little.  
He was tired and his eyes were drooping so he turned off the lights. He had to push Sherlock aside so that he could claim a comfortable position. And, he easily then drifted off to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Sherlock bothered to dress that morning. Shirt, pants, and shoes. He even wore a suit jacket.  
“Are you up to something important today?”  
Sherlock sat at the kitchen table.  
“I had thought about something that I read in a case file a few years ago.”  
John placed Sherlock’s tea in front of him. “That statement would sound strange if it came from anyone else on the planet.” John returned to the stove. “I made a Spanish potato omelet . Or, do you just want biscuits with your tea?”  
“A small piece.”  
Sherlock drank from his cup. He set it down and asked, “What was your last intimate relationship?”  
John was caught a bit off guard. He continued portioning the omelet as he said, “Well you remember Jenny.”  
“I said intimate, John. A girl that you had minor sexual activity with in a dark room is not intimate.”  
John instantly demanded, “I’d be shy too if I had a tail!”  
“John, if you had a tail, I already would have stripped you for x-rays, physical exams, and samples.”  
John placed Sherlock’s breakfast in front of him. “I can honestly tell you that would never happen without your drugging me almost to the point of death. My tail. My business.”  
“Answer the question, John.”  
“I was side tracked by talk of vestigial tails.”  
Undaunted, Sherlock asked, “When was your last intimate relationship?”  
“Outside of my family…college. Why?”  
“Interesting. Your voice dropped several octaves when you answered. It’s a painful memory. You don’t want to talk about it.”  
“You do. Why is that?”  
Sherlock pulled out his cell phone. He showed the screen to John saying, “I’ve been researching activities that bring couples closer together. We do all of the top three activities regularly. I thought deeper intimacy could be achieved by adding on more activities.”  
“And these activities would be?”  
“Spending time together, physical activities, and working towards common goals.”  
“And the activities you’d like to expand into?”  
Revealing intimate talk and sex.”  
John huffed. Half smile, half disbelief. John took his time. He bottled up his knee jerk response. He took an additional moment. Finally, John asked, “Are you absolutely sure that initiating emotional and physical intimacy is something that you want?”  
Sherlock opened his mouth. He closed it. A moment later, he said, “I don’t know, John. I don’t have much experience or insight into either. But my research indicates that it’s vital for a healthy and long lived relationship.”  
“Then let’s start with the harder of the two. What’s your last intimate relationship?”  
“You.”  
“What about Irene Adler?”  
“Intellectually, she was compatible. Physically, appealing. But we didn’t get close. I didn’t feel closer to her.” He thought for a moment. “I image that we could have had the opportunity arisen.”  
“I really thought you two would have ended up together.”  
Sherlock smiled oddly. “She almost beat me.”  
“And I bet that’s what turned you on the most.”  
“It creates appeal.”  
“Which brings me to an even bigger question. We both know that you’re much smarter than me. My mind doesn’t work in quite the same way. What could possibly attract you into a relationship with me?”  
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to respond, “You’re John.” After another moment, Sherlock added, “You’re my John.”  
“I think.” John had to swallow hard. “That’s enough intimacy for one morning,” he said picking up his fork.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Sherlock was deep in thought. Hands in prayer pose. Tea untouched. Eyes fixed on a faraway something that only he could see.  
“Sherlock.”  
Sherlock murmured deep in his throat so that it sounded more like a purr.  
John sat in his chair. He smiled and said, “The answer is forty two.”  
Sherlock turned. His face was scrunched up. “What?”  
“Social reference. A novel in which the universal answer is forty two.”  
“Fiction?”  
“Science fiction. Yes.”  
The confusion melted away. “It sounds like something I’d delete.”  
“You looked deep in thought. Did a case come up?”  
“No. I was thinking about my cumulative knowledge of sex. What’s applicable. What isn’t. I feel it’s prudent to do additional research. I wouldn’t want to harm you.”  
It was said with such lack of guile.  
He leaned in and clearly explained, “Sherlock, I’m not gay.”  
Sherlock sat up so that he could lean in and meet his gaze. “I know. That’s why I’m gathering as much information as possible. I want to make it good. This way our relationship will be enough.”  
John wasn’t sure what to say. Finally. He settled on, “I appreciate the effort, but I’m uncomfortable with the idea of having sex with you.”  
“I’m sure. My research indicates that we have to build up to such an act. A seduction, as it were.”  
John exhaled, long and slow.  
“I don’t think that works as well as you imagine, your very red at the moment.”  
“Thanks,” John huffed. “Sherlock, I don’t want to be seduced.”  
“By definition, seduction isn’t a voluntary proposition.”  
“I don’t think you understand.”  
“I do. You want to resist. You wish to keep our relationship platonic. But you must admit that you need sex in your life.”  
The next morning, John woke up wrapped up warmly in Sherlock’s long arms. He was caught and unable to move from the warm cocoon they formed together until Sherlock roused.  
“Sherlock,” John warned as he pulled away.  
“I’ve been thinking, John.”  
“Sherlock, please let go.”  
“Oh,” Sherlock let go saying. “I was warm. Also, I’ve been thinking.”  
John got up and stepped into his slippers. He pulled his robe off the chair.  
“I’m going to be nicer to Lestrade and his men.”  
John went still. When he realized that he’d indeed heard the words, he turned to look in Sherlock’s direction.   
“Even Anderson?” John asked.   
“I shall try, but I make no absolute promises.”  
For a moment, John didn’t know what to say or do. He opened his mouth a few times. When no sound came out, he stopped. John covered his mouth with his hand.  
Finally, it occurred to him to ask, “Why?”  
Sherlock jumped up stark naked saying, “Because, I know that you want me to be a better man.”  
He wrapped a sheet around himself and scampered out quickly over the icy floor. 


	6. THE COURTSHIP OF JOHN H. WATSON

Sherlock was laying on the couch. Despite the cold he wore a thread bare shirt and a pair of old sleep pants. His pale feet were almost blue. Still he remained in prayer pose quite deep in thought.  
John walked up to him wit a big, plush blanket. He folded it in half and spread it over Sherlock. John then reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick pair of thermal socks. He put them on Sherlock’s long feet before giving each a little rub to get the blood moving. John tucked his feet in under the blanket before moving to his chair.   
“How do you feel about moving into my bedroom?”   
John picked up his medical journal. “I have my own bedroom for a reason.”  
“I haven’t slept in my room since I turned it into a lab. Logically, it’s a waste. It’s larger, has a bigger closet. And the air flow patterns in our flat flow up towards your room. That’s why you smell every experiment. Smell will linger in the highest altitudes, especially since you don’t air out your room as often as you probably should given your geographic location.”  
John put his periodical down and got up. He went to Sherlock’s door and went in. He got as far as one step beyond the threshold.  
John could only stare. The bed had been taken apart. The frame and mattress were pushed up against the wall. Tables were lined up as work benches. All of Sherlock’s equipment and materials were strewn around in the usual organized chaos. A smell of mold and rancid meat reached him.  
John closed the door.  
He returned to his chair and calmly picked up his medical journal.   
“I want a king sized bed,” Sherlock said.   
“We’re not moving in together.”  
Sherlock bothered to turn to face John. “Your reasoning?”  
“We’re not a couple.”  
“Yes, we are,” Sherlock replied simply. “I like having a lab, but I can not continue to work in the same room where my cloths are stored. I’m going to stink soon. My logic is perfect. You’re simply running along on some emotional upset.”  
“Sherlock.” John heard the start of an argument in his voice and he managed to stop himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and thought carefully. In the end, he sighed and shook his head.  
_Click._  
John looked up to see Sherlock holding a stop watch.  
“What is that?”  
“I’m attempting to update my mind palace’s John files. You’re logic processing and critical thinking skills are a bit slower than mine. It took you one minute and forty seven seconds to see my point.”  
Irritated, John said, “Sherlock-  
“You like the kitchen to be lab and experiment free.”  
“God, yes.”  
“I’m right about the molecule dispersion patterns and air flow circulation in this flat.”  
“Stink lingers in my room,” John agreed.  
“You don’t always notice that I’m asleep next to you. You know I don’t waste much time asleep.”  
John kept his mouth shut, because he did notice. It was evident by the way his pillow, sheets, and mattresses smelled more and more like Sherlock every day. Sherlock had made appearances and spent time in bed. But, John didn’t always find him there come morning.  
A thought suddenly struck him, “And, who is going to do all this manual labor?”  
“Mycroft gave you a credit cared and check book. Hire someone.”  
“Sure. I’m sure some unsuspecting movers would love to come in and move your lab and experiments. I’m sure they deal with all kinds of delicate experiments on a daily basis.”  
Sherlock sat up quickly.   
“Nothing important on the old work bench, right?”  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “I don’t do manual labor, but I’ll move my experiments.”  
“I’ll make a few calls to have the furniture we don’t need donated. We’ll need to go shopping. Or, do you not care.”  
Sherlock turned away wrinkling his nose. “I suppose I should go, intimacy building exercise and all that.”  
“You’ll be bored.”  
Sherlock dramatically threw himself back as he huffed loudly. Suddenly, he declared, “Domesticity is boring!  
“This is where we compromise. I’ll pick out furniture that I like and you’ll live with it. I’ll hire the workmen and you’ll direct them without pissing them off. No mistreatment, trauma, name calling, or pointing out their life histories.”  
John thought for a moment. Finally, he said, “I’d also like to buy a new fridge.”  
“Why?”  
“Because ours is a morgue. We’ll put that one upstairs for your personal use. Is that agreeable?”  
“You’re complaining gets tiresome.”  
Sherlock placed his hands together. Fingertips to fingertips. Slowly, he faded away into his mind.  
John picked up his medical journal again and finally began reading.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John scheduled everything to happen on Friday.  
Despite his complaints, Sherlock helped because physical activities were intimacy building. They washed and boxed all the bed linens. John’s bed had been taken apart and wiped down.   
The movers arrived first. The donation items were moved to the ground floor. Then they began moving Sherlock’s lab into John’s old room. Sherlock moved his experiments and set up his area to his specific needs.  
When the donation truck arrived, John went down to help the two men quickly load the furniture and boxes without fuss.  
In the wait till the new furniture arrived, John managed to get a sandwich into Sherlock as he looked around his lab dictating.  
“A dry erase board. I one just there.”  
Bite. Chew. Swallow.  
“Here I want a place to store chemicals and extra beakers.”  
Bite. Chew. Swallow.  
“I should probably have an exhaust system of some sort.”  
And so it went for the span of the sandwich.  
When the furniture was delivered, John easily directed where each piece would go. It went quickly and was extremely satisfying.  
John was smiling when Sherlock walked in looked around at the new furniture and said, “I don’t hate it as much as I thought.”   
“I bought window film to make the windows in the bedroom opaque without obstructing the light.”  
Sherlock sparred John a look.  
“Or do you want your naked bum in the print media with an announcement of our new relationship?”  
“Don’t people have anything better to do with their time?”  
“The masses have nothing better to do than spread gossip and innuendo. It’s a favorite past time.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John rolled over and stretched his entire body. A yawn took him. Finally, he relaxed into his pillow as he allowed his body to relax bonelessly into the mattress.  
Sherlock wasn’t there, but he could smell him. He was glad that the other man was at least trying to get a few hours of sleep each night. John had noticed long ago that Sherlock’s behavior was less erratic when he had enough sleep. And with just enough food, the man was almost human.  
John rolled out of bed because he had to, not because he wanted too. The new mattress was very comfortable. The 800 count Egyptian cotton sheets were the real treat though. Sherlock insisted on them and John could see why. They felt good, made sleeping a worth while experience. It seemed to certainly make it a more attractive endeavor for Sherlock.  
John went about his usual morning routine. He was a bit surprised upon moving in to discover that Sherlock wasn’t as messy as he’d originally imagined. He wasn’t neat as a pin by any means, but in the least their new shared spaces were clutter free, usable, and relatively clean.  
It was more than he’d expected.  
John wandered out of their bedroom. He was met with a surprise in the kitchen. The dining table has already been set. A pleasant smell of very edible and well made food greeted him. Sherlock was busy preparing their tea.  
“You cooked?” John asked carefully. He’d seen it before, but it was a rare occurrence indeed.  
“Don’t be ridiculous. I ordered.”  
“Oh,” John said happily accepting his cup of tea. “For a moment, I thought I’d walked into a parallel universe.”  
“I’m attempting to provide a pleasant morning experience for you before you go to work. As you continuously express to me that breakfast is incredibly important.”  
Sherlock offered John a steaming mug.  
John smiled even before trying it. It was hot enough judging by the steam. It was milky. And, he was reasonably sure that he wasn’t about to be poisoned in some way.  
“What’s for breakfast?”   
The tea wasn’t bad.  
“Casserole.” Sherlock retrieved the aluminum tray from the oven and placed it on the waiting pot holder on the table. “I thought you’d like not having to cook for the two of us.”  
“So this is you being a better man.” John smiled. “It’s different. I like it. It’s very grown up.”  
Sherlock smiled and proceeded to serve John first.  
They tucked into their meal.  
After a few mouthfuls, Sherlock asked, “About what time do you have your lunch?”  
John looked up. He thought carefully before hesitantly answering, “Noon.”  
“There is a Spanish restaurant down a ways. I believe they have paella.”  
“You hate paella it has squid.”  
“But you don’t.”  
John hesitated.  
“I wish you’d say yes. I already made a reservation.”  
After a long moment, John finally said, “This rather sounds like a date.”  
“It is.”  
When John didn’t answer, Sherlock said, “You must eat. It’s cuisine you enjoy. And, it’s a bit romantic.”  
Hesitantly, John said, “Are you absolutely sure that you want to take this kind of a chance with our friendship?”  
“John,” Sherlock set his fork down. He leaned forwards and said, “I can’t explain it. I simply know that a deeper relationship between us will work. We’ll be happy, John. Can’t you see it?”  
John didn’t respond. The same thought he always thought at these moments came to mind.  
“If you aren’t tired of pursuing these ninny’s, then I’ll stop. We can revisit this later when you’re ready.”  
“No.” John was surprised that the word had jumped out of him so quickly. Effortlessly. It only took him a moment to ponder. “This is…not what I’m used too. Can you be patient?”  
“I’m not good at being patient,” Sherlock admitted. “But, I am trying to be a better man.”  
Sherlock fell silent for a few long moments. When he spoke it was to say, If I am wrong about us-  
“You’re never wrong,” John insisted.  
Sherlock met John’s eyes. “No. I’m not. Lunch?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John texted Sherlock ten minutes before the hour to let him know that he was done with his last client before lunch. John caught himself whistling at his locker. He smiled and put his lab coat away. He made sure that he had his wallet and then headed out.  
John walked out and saw Sherlock across the street walking determinately towards him. John managed to take only a step before his body froze. The wind picked up whipping Sherlock’s coat and hair. And for a moment John wondered at his current situation.  
Their first date.  
The idea was both intriguing and frightening.  
John still wasn’t sure how he felt. But he knew that as long as Sherlock was willing to give him space, John would eventually sort it out.  
All it took was a fraction of a second.   
Sherlock was walking. His eyes focused on John. Then a taxi was suddenly in the place where he’d been standing. John heard the dull thud of Sherlock’s head on the asphalt. 


	7. FOR BETTER OR WORSE

He didn’t remember screaming, but he was sure that he must have because his throat was so sore. He must have. It hurt to swallow for several hours after. It went well with the pain in his head and the hole in his chest.  
John had been the first responder on the scene. He’d checked the make sure that Sherlock’s heart was still beating and his lungs still functioning. Then he took control of the scene. He wrapped is coat around Sherlock to prevent shock. Then, he stabilized Sherlock’s head and neck with his hands.  
He stared into the still, sleeping face until paramedics replaced John’s hands with a neck brace.  
John managed to catch a ride in the ambulance, not just by telling them that he was a doctor but by emphasizing that he was Sherlock’s boyfriend.  
From the moment they arrived at the hospital, John got under foot. He jumped into every conversation regarding Sherlock’s treatment. He asked questions. He meddled as completely as he could, particularly when he thought they were wrong.  
The hospital administrator was about to have John forcibly removed when Mycroft stepped in. One quietly placed phone call was all it took. And then John was free to stop the attending doctor from sending Sherlock into a surgery that John didn’t agree with. It was clear in John’s head by the way the attending doctor kept looking at his watch that he was trying to clock out either exactly on time or early. John had him removed from the case.  
The next doctor ordered more tests. It was clear from the first CT scan that Sherlock had a fracture at the back of his skull. Bleeding had formed under the skull and was creating pressure in Sherlock’s skull. The question was, how much bleeding? And, could that pressure cause brain damage?  
John sat by Sherlock’s bed. He waited while he monitored the man’s vitals and brain function.  
John ordered a second CT scan in the middle of the night and he worried. By then he was able to confirm that there was no life threatening bleeding into Sherlock’s brain. From there it was a waiting game to see when he’d wake. And once he woke up, to see if there was any possible brain damage either from the accident, the bleeding, and resulting pressure on the brain. Or, all of it.  
And so, John took hold of Sherlock’s hand.  
Mycroft sat in the room unmoving. His face stern. His thoughts unknown.  
John prayed. He cried. He did the only thing that he really could. He waited.  
Somewhere in the night between exhaustion, tears, and worry, John managed to fall asleep. It was void of dreams for which he was grateful.  
He awoke feeling heavy and dreary. But with a look, he could tell that Sherlock was better. John didn’t need a machine to explain the change in Sherlock’s color. Despite the deep bruising that gave him raccoon eyes.  
And when those eyes parted in narrow slits, John felt it down to his soul. The blue grey color reassured him as nothing else could. John bent his head and kissed Sherlock’s hand. He held and caressed it for a time not knowing what to say.  
He thought carefully. Finally, John said, “You suffered a head trauma.” John sniffed. “Do you remember?”  
Slowly, Sherlock shook his head.  
“Okay. That’s normal.”  
John pulled away from Sherlock. He walked to the rolling cart in the room and took what he needed to check Sherlock.  
John went through the basic exam. Not surprisingly Sherlock was concussed. A few ribs were bruised and he avoided them. His left shoulder was tender. The bruising pronounced against Sherlock’s pale skin. But the motor reflexes in his upper and lower extremities were fine.  
John even removed the catheter so Sherlock could go to the bathroom under his own power. And he did insist on going…alone.  
“Keep the door open,” John insisted.  
He wasn’t shocked when the door closed and was locked. Sherlock puttered around for longer than he needed simply to prove that he could. John took advantage of Sherlock’s stubbornness so that he could change Sherlock’s sheets.  
“Please lay down,” John said helping Sherlock. The man looked ready to fall down. “Let’s go. I have questions for you.”  
“Name?”  
“Sherlock Holmes.”  
“My name?”  
“John Watson.”  
“Where do you live.”  
“221B Baker Street.”  
John smiled. “Last question. Date, time, and location where we met and who introduced us.”  
Sherlock sniffed haughtily and looked away.  
A feeling of sudden dread filled John.  
John immediately looked around. He found that he was still wearing his visitation name tag with his name, and Sherlock’s medical file was laying open on the tray. John was sure Sherlock wouldn’t have any trouble reading upside down or backwards for that matter.  
John closed the file saying, “You have my apologies. I sometimes underestimate just how brilliant you are. Let’s try again. What’s my middle name?”  
Sherlock didn’t meet his eyes.  
“Let’s try tapping into long term memory. What’s your brother’s name?”  
Sherlock suddenly seemed trapped in mortal combat with himself. He opened his mouth, twice. The struggle continued. Sweat broke out on Sherlock’s forehead.  
John wanted desperately to just give him the answer. And if Sherlock was an ordinary person, he might have.  
But, he wasn’t.  
And, John didn’t.  
It took almost three minutes of silence that was vividly exhausted by the myriad of expressions and emotions that crossed Sherlock’s face.  
Shyly and unsure, Sherlock hesitantly said, “Mikey.”  
John leaned in, “Do you remember your parents?”  
Slowly, Sherlock smiled. “Mummy,” he said triumphantly. It took a few more moments for him to say, “Father,” in a more somber tone. Solemnly, he said, “I’m having memory problems resulting from the head trauma. Will it end?”  
“This isn’t my field. I have to get out there and call your primary. He’ll recommend a specialist who’ll do an evaluation.”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. The impatience was already evident in his body language.  
“Fine,” John said. “The answer is, I don’t know. To every question. All they can tell you is that you have a memory issue from a physical injury to your brain. There will be a name for it but they can’t tell you how long it will last.”  
John took Sherlock’s hand in his. “If you were ordinary, I’d tell you it’s going to be okay and placate you a bit so that you wouldn’t be afraid.  
A look of disgust passed over Sherlock’s features.  
“Don’t worry. Not going to waste the spit.” John looked at the door and then back at Sherlock. “I’m going to go out there and forbid anyone from giving you information. This is a game. A challenge. Figure it out for yourself. That’s what you’re good at.”  
John leaned in and kissed Sherlock’s scratchy cheek. He pressed his face against Sherlock’s hair and said, “I might not be as smart as you, but I know what makes you happy.” John pulled away. “Now figure out the mystery of your life and the people around you.”  
So John went out and talked to those assembled.  
At first, everyone was silent.  
Unsurprisingly, Mycroft was the first to recover.  
“I can’t say that I agree with your methods, John. But, I’m sure Sherlock would be entertained by this.”  
“Myc,” Lestrade warned. He turned to John. “This is lunacy! He doesn’t even know where he lives.” Lestrade went suddenly quiet. Several emotions crossed his face. “Yeah, he would be entertained, wouldn’t he?”  
Mycroft authoritatively said, “You have our support.”  
“Mrs. Hudson?” John asked.  
“Oh, this is the kind of thing that he would enjoy. So long as he’s not shooting at my walls, I suppose.”  
Molly smiled and gently said, “I suppose it’ll keep him from driving the staff crazy.”  
“Alright, that’s everyone. Just remember to give him as close to nothing as possible. Let him figure you and your place in his universe out. Now, one at a time. He gets a one minute time limit with each of you. I’ll give him a few days to think it over. I’ll send periodic texts on his progress to all.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Sherlock was deep in thought systematically compiling the information that he’d gathered. He went through several mental exercises trying to gauge just how much he knew about the five people that had been mentioned so far: John, Mikey, Mummy, Father, and himself.  
It took a while but finally little bits started to come back to him. It was Mycroft not Mikey. He still felt the same when he thought of him: rivalry, comparatively a bit slow, and a bit in awe. Mycroft was always better and faster than he.  
His parents were still alive, still living in the home they’d living in their entire married lives. Sherlock called every week to check in. He preferred to speak to his mother rather than his authoritarian father.  
A part of Sherlock was overjoyed. John had understood. Understood exactly what Sherlock had needed. The smile tugging at Sherlock’s face eased his insecurities. There was someone who knew and accepted. Not only that, he wasn’t making it easy. Sherlock could only hope that this was going to be as interesting as he hoped. He couldn’t think of anything more awful than enduring the journey only to find out that he led a boring life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

There were tests to be done. There were insults and personal secrets revealed. A nurse walked away crying. A doctor threw his clip board across the room and then stormed out. And so, John pushed things along as much as possible.  
He reassured the hospital staff that the would take personal responsibility for Sherlock’s condition. They were out of the hospital by two that afternoon. They were met outside by an idling black sedan. John led Sherlock straight to it.  
The door had only just closed when Sherlock said, “This is Mycroft’s.”  
Sherlock looked at John demanding answers.  
“He worries,” was all John said about the matter. “When we get back to the flat, I’m going to abandon you so that I can do the shopping. I was thinking of making dinner. Do you fancy anything in particular?”  
Sherlock didn’t respond.  
“What about something simple. Pasta maybe? Extra peas?”  
It took him a moment, but Sherlock finally asked, “We haven’t been married long, have we? A year or so at best.”  
“Sherlock,” John stopped himself. He thought carefully. “When we get up to our flat you’ll no doubt be very busy.”  
It was a seventeen minute ride to their front door. They rode the rest of the way in silence.  
“Remember anything?” John asked as they stood outside their building.  
“Not particularly.”  
John led the way.  
“Is this recent?” Sherlock asked on the stairs.  
John stopped and turned to find Sherlock studying the nail scratches that streaked along the wall. “No. Not recent. Nothing to worry about.”  
John kept going up. He unlocked the door and ushered Sherlock in. He saw the instant fascination unfold across the man’s features as he looked around the living room.  
John could only smile.  
“Get to know your life. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”  
John didn’t get an answer. Luckily, he didn’t expect one.  
His trip to the store was relatively quick. They needed milk and a few things for dinner. Luckily, the new refrigerator made all the difference in the world in terms of food storage. John wasn’t so hesitant now about buying refrigerated items. It made cooking at home easier.  
John got home to find Sherlock sitting in his chair. He’d moved it to face the desk they shared. Sherlock was absently rubbing his head. John didn’t disturb him. Instead, he wandered into the kitchen to put the kettle on. John put groceries away while waiting for the water to boil.  
He fixed a cup for Sherlock, and then found Sherlock’s pills.  
He walked the cup and pills to Sherlock.  
Sherlock accepted the cup saying, “I don’t want to feel sleepy, lethargic, or numb.”  
“Please,” John replied. “You’re concussed. The best thing in the world is for you to rest.”  
Sherlock didn’t agree, but he didn’t fight John either. Sherlock took the pills with his tea. Sherlock looked surprised. He took another sip and looked down into his mug. As usual, he drank the whole thing.  
“You can lay down on the couch or in our room. But, you should rest.”  
John went into the bedroom and stole the blanket off the bed. When he returned Sherlock was on the couch testing its comfort.  
“I must like it here. It has good support.”  
Sherlock lay back.  
John spread the blanket over the man and tucked him in. “I’ll wake you when dinner is ready.”  
Sherlock had a pounding headache. When the time came and John tried to wake him, Sherlock brushed his hand away saying, “Head hurts. Would rather sleep.”  
He was left alone and he was grateful for that. Sherlock closed his eyes and quickly nodded off.  
He awoke to sounds of distress. He sprang up and immediately felt the world tilt and whirl. It took him a moment. The second he felt that he could move, Sherlock was clumsily walking towards the bedroom with his arms outstretched. He had the layout memorized but he didn’t trust his equilibrium.  
He could hear John fighting. The struggle was punctuated by sobs and finally a cry out.  
Sherlock walked in and turned the lights on. He found John sweaty and in the middle of a nightmare.  
“John,” Sherlock called out.  
John inhaled deeply, his eyes opened as he realized that the scary things had once again retreated back into his mind. John covered his eyes and took a moment.  
Sherlock eased into bed mindful of his ribs. He lay next to John. He even placed his hand on John’s arm.  
“Does music help?”  
John sniffed. “Help what?”  
“The nightmares. My mother would often play for me when I was young and having trouble sleeping.”  
John turned his head. It took him a moment. “Is that why you play in the middle of the night?”  
“If it doesn’t help…”  
“It does. I just…never realized that you were playing for me.”  
“Sometimes the closeness and warmth of another person can also be soothing. I suppose it depends on the individual.”  
John didn’t have to think long. “Thank you. And yes, the nightmares have gotten better since we started sleeping together. Even the smell on your pillow is calming.” After a few moments, John admitted, “I can’t help having them.”  
“I know.” A second later, he added, “You’ll conquer those fears with time.  
“Will you stay until I’m asleep?” John turned the lights out.  
Sherlock nodded. Unsure, he settled down next to John and stared into the night.  
Carefully, he asked, “We don’t sleep together much. Do we?”  
John smiled into the dark. “A more accurate question is, how often do you actually sleep? You’re probably still very tired, but that’s due to the concussion.” John turned his head in John’s direction, “That beautiful and amazing mind. If only you could shut it off. Mycroft worries you’ll relapse or hurt yourself. I worry you’ll run yourself down. Little food. Little rest. It take it’s toll.”  
“Now that I’m properly chastised, you can rest.”  
John chuckled. “I’m going to make us a big breakfast tomorrow. Tea, toast, jam, sausages, and eggs. I’m going to feed you until you’re stuffed and then you’re going to take a nap.”  
“Hedonism at its best.”  
“Yeah,” John murmured drifting off.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John laid out a hearty table the next morning. They were still eating when the sounds of a car outside pulled John away from the table. Sherlock was immediately concerned based on the look that soured John’s gentle disposition.  
A man barged in.  
“No,” John said quickly. “I don’t care what it is. No. He’s still recovering.”  
The man was one of the few people he‘d met at the hospital. His name as Gregory Lestrade; the only information given. Rumpled suit coffee stain on his tie. Nicotine stains on his right hands’ fingers. Weapon concealed under his jacket. Didn’t sleep last night. He pulled out a picture of a woman holding a child.  
“Mother’s dead. The kid is missing. The clock’s running, John.”  
John turned away. His jaw flexing tightly.  
“I’ll put my money on Sherlock any day. We both know that even at his worst, he’s still the best.”  
John still said nothing.  
“John I don’t know where this little girl is. She’s only five.”  
“Does that work,” Sherlock asked Lestrade. “Appealing to sentiment?” Sherlock had only to look at John again. “I’ll get my coat.”  
“Finish your tea,” John said. “At least do that. I’ll get your pills. You should have one before we go. We’ll follow, Greg. You know he doesn’t like police vehicles.”  
“I’ll text you the address,” Lestrade said turning away.  
John reached the bottle full of pills that were sitting on the counter.  
“Half,” Sherlock called.  
John hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of Sherlock being in pain, but he was an addict. It was best not to tempt fate. He cut a pill in half with a knife. He put the bottle in his pocket and gave Sherlock a half.  
“Sherlock-  
“You’ve sufficiently explained my condition, work habits, as well as your concern, Doctor. I’ll let you know if you’re needed.”  
“No, you won’t. You’ll push yourself till you fall.”  
Sherlock smiled. “Since you’re already familiar with my habits, does it make sense to stand around in discussion?” He tilted his head slightly and happily said, “There’s a missing child.”  
“You’re a cock.”  
John walked towards his coat.  
“We are not going to be out all day and night. You and I will stop to eat and drink. And, you will rest in some form or fashion.” John turned to face him. “If my reasonable requests are not met I will…set your coat and scarf on fire the moment that I’m able.”  
They arrived at a small flat forty nine minutes later. The woman’s body was still present. She had been laid out on the floor, but it was plainly obvious by the bruising around the neck that she’d been hanging.  
Lestrade offered Sherlock his phone. Pictures of the woman hanging from an electrical cord were on the screen. More important were the pictures of the knot above her neck and the knot tying the electrical cord to the ceiling beam. He flipped through the few pictures. Sherlock offered the phone back to the man and slowly looked around the room.  
When he was finished looking around, Sherlock turned to Lestrade and said, “I’m unsure of how I’m supposed to help.”  
John quickly said, “Just tell them what you see.”  
Sherlock scanned the room one final time. When he was ready, he simply said, “A murdered woman.”  
“It’s suicide!” A thin, dark haired forensics technician whined. “She hung herself.”  
Sherlock stared at the man for a long moment. Finally, he said, “It’s hanged not hung. And if you do your job as well as you utilize the English language, then I’m starting to understand my presence here.”  
“Why is it murder?” Lestrade asked calmly.  
“You already suspect,” Sherlock said already interested and anxious to test the man.  
“The suicide note was misspelled and had poor grammar. But she was an English teacher. Sherlock, I need something more to make this an official investigation. For right now we’re just here as a courtesy to a colleague that’s her relative.”  
“She knew her killer, expected him. She made coffee. Hers is untouched and on the table. She made it for him; she probably didn’t like coffee. He left his mug in the sink.”  
“Those are assumptions,” the technician demanded.  
“This is a clean, organized, and orderly home. Look around. She’d never have left a cup in the sink. She stores the coffee pot in the box she bought it in. It’s on the counter. Clearly, not a new box. It’s an appliance she doesn’t use much. She made the coffee for him.”  
He looked down at the body.  
“She’s recently divorced. No. It’s an ex-fiancé.”  
“We’re questioning him.”  
“Unless he fathered the child, don’t bother. The killer pays her a stipend, alimony, or child support. And, he owed her.”  
Sherlock went to the table and pointed at the bills and spilled coffee there. “They sat here and argued. Look at the calendar. The due dates are highlighted in red several times. She was worried about paying them. He killed her. Hanged her. And then left with the child.  
“Also, he’s left-handed. The knots on the electrical cord couldn’t have been tied by her. There’s no evidence that this kitchen has a left handed resident.”  
“Amazing,” John said just loud enough for Sherlock to hear.  
Lestrade smiled. “Nice. We can do the rest. I know you’re still doing poorly,” he said squeezing Sherlock’s shoulder. “I appreciate it, mate.”  
Sherlock looked at the man’s handsome face. “What are your intentions?”  
When the man didn’t perk up in understanding and provide an answer, Sherlock reached for the very expensive, Parisian, silk tie that smelled of Mycroft’s cologne.  
“Let’s go outside,” Lestrade answered.  
Sherlock, John, and Lestrade left the crime scene.  
Once outside, Lestrade said, “You and I haven’t discussed my dating your brother. I suppose we should.”  
Sherlock didn’t respond.  
John leaned in and said, “Well I think it’s brilliant. You both deserve happiness. Many happy returns, mate.”  
“Is he?”  
“Happy?” Lestrade took a moment to think. “I hope so. He’s the first relationship since my divorce. I’m really optimistic. It’s not easy because of the hours we put in. But when I do see him, it’s really good.”  
Sherlock nodded once. Then, he turned to John and said, “I’m tired. We can go home. I believe I’ll have that nap.”  
Those words made John smile. It made Sherlock feel rather pleased when he saw it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“A week has gone by. Sufficient time for the symptoms of a concussion to pass, as well as John’s related concerns.”  
“I see.”  
“My long term memories seem to be intact. At about two years ago my memories begin to grow dim.”  
“Do you remember rehab?”  
“And my former habits. But I don’t feel the craving or need.”  
Mycroft visibly relaxed.  
“I have no memories of John.”  
“You’ve deduced-  
“Of course, but I don’t remember. John is important. I need all available information, so I don’t…  
“Cock it up?”  
“You know it goads me to ask for you help, Mycroft. Do be a brother and not a nanny state about it.”  
Mycroft let out a breath. “Despite your reactions to my methods, I’ve never had anything but your best interests in mind. As far as I’m concerned John Watson is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. He is a grounding force in your life. I value him too.”  
Mycroft crossed his legs as he twirled his umbrella gently. “What do you want to know exactly?”  
Sherlock hesitated. Finally, he said, “We aren’t a very…I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m not in a relationship that involves public displays.” Sherlock mulled the situation carefully. “Still I think John may need more.”  
“That I know of Doctor Watson had you haven’t consummated whatever this is. You’ve been incredibly close from the beginning. When I realized that my efforts to encourage the situation had born fruit. Do stop sneering. I had your best interest at heart. Where was I? Yes. When it bore fruit, I had the monitoring equipment removed from the bedroom you both share.”  
“Since when do you respect personal privacy?”  
“Since my brother decided to grow up and seriously pursue a relationship. I like monitoring, but I don’t want to know what happens on the other side of _that_ door.”  
“Was pursuing John my idea?”  
“Of course.”  
“And how does he feel about it?”  
“A question best answered by him, I should think.”  
Sherlock looked away.  
“However, I will state that where angels have feared to tread, John Watson has stood triumphantly. Not only has he seen you at your worst, he’s seen you at your best, which is much the same thing. And yet, he remains.  
“I am not as difficult to live with as you.”  
“Until recently your refrigerator was reminiscent of a death camp. You conducted insane experiments in the kitchen. And, to this day don’t flush often enough.”  
“Your OCD make you insane to please. You still fart after every meal. And, I can only imagine the joys ahead for Lestrade when he realizes that you line your ties up by thread count.”  
“We do know a great deal about each other, don’t we?”  
Sherlock thought before he said, “I know that I can’t win him over without help.”  
Mycroft said nothing.  
“Really? No gloating. That was a perfect opportunity to lord your superior intellect and powers of observation over me.”  
“I’d rather not give you a reason to avoid me when you need a big brother. You remember a lot of bad. Do keep in mind that you’ve managed to forget a lot of good.”  
The sudden thickness in his throat was a bit of a surprise. When he was able, Sherlock said, “Mummy must be thrilled that we’re getting on.”  
“We’ve never let on.”  
“Oh, good.”  
Mycroft hesitated. “I profess no great expertise with relationships, brother mine. But my recent dealings with Gregory have dramatically shown me that you must communicate a great deal.”  
“You hate explaining yourself.”  
“But he expressed to me that he wants very much to know things when it comes to us and our relationship. Expect to compromise and there will be changes.”  
“You? Compromise and change?”  
“If you don’t want either, your relationship will be short lived and Doctor Watson will most likely go back to dating the idiot, bimbo of the week. The man has simply dreadful taste in women.”  
“Did he date many women?”  
“A great deal. Three Continents Watson, I believe that was his petite nom damour.”  
Sherlock fell silent.  
“You should probably start there. The good doctor has a healthy libido. He hasn’t gone on a date with anyone but you in months. If the physical is…not favorable, then perhaps a re-thinking of the situation is in order.”  
“Reasonable. Sound. Logical.”  
“Do you remember when we spoke of the birds and the bees?”  
“We needn’t rehash that day. Hours of biology, anatomy, and physiology lectures. I, unfortunately, remember every minute.” Under his breath, he added, “Six hours I’ll never get back.”  
“The internet may provide you with additional information. Pleasuring one’s significant other can be more art than science.”  
The opening of the front door caught their attention. John wandered in.  
He stood in front of them and said, “No threats, fire, or destruction. It’s practically a Hallmark moment. Should I take a picture?”  
“I’ll have you know that we were just discussing art.”  
“Sure you were. I’m going to set the kettle.”  
“Usual for us,” Sherlock called out.  
John seriously asked, “Would Sir care for anything else?”  
“A few biscuits.”  
“Cock.” And John left to the kitchen.  
“And yet, he stays,” Mycroft pondered. “Do you think it was his parents or the war that broke him?”  
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to answer, “When it comes to accumulated trauma, they amount to about the same. Don’t they?” 


	8. WINNING JOHN

John had a long hard day. It was flu season. His cases were a lot of the same, tedious stuff really. Unfortunately, there were a lot of the people to see. One of the other doctors was out so it all fell to John and Sarah to take up the slack.  
By the time the front desk closed, John’s feet were throbbing from running around. He had a slight headache. All he really wanted was to get home, have a hot cuppa, and settle into his chair for a few quite minutes of peace.   
He could only hope that Sherlock hadn’t gotten up to something loud, smelly, or caustic.  
John dropped his latest file folders on his desk. The pile was large. Just looking at it made the decision for him.  
John hung his coat up, turned his lights off, and walked away.  
He met Sarah at the front desk. He saw that she’d put on her coat as well and had her purse.  
“I’m going home too,” he said with a smile.  
“Great minds think alike. I can handle sick kids, but whiny adults always wear me out.”  
“Come on,” he said in a huff. “The work will still be there tomorrow.”  
John held the door for her and then stepped away so she could lock up. It was at that moment that a familiar black sedan glided to a stop in front of John. John couldn’t help the smile.  
“Were you thinking of walking or taking the tube?”  
“Too tired to walk,” she said absently. She turned and went still next to him.  
“Can I give you lift?”  
“Sure,” she answered carefully.  
John walked over and gallantly opened the door.  
He smiled until he saw her freeze.  
“John,” she managed to say. Her face turned down.  
At first he was confused, then he looked inside. A large bouquet of white roses was waiting inside.   
He immediately turned to her and said, “I didn’t do that! Not that you aren’t amazing. But I know that we’re friends. It’s better that way.”  
With a little hint of a smile, she asked, “Do you think they’re from your boyfriend?”  
Reflexively, he heard himself retort, “He’s not.” He caught himself and instead finished by saying, “Sentimental.”  
John ducked into the car and looked for a note.  
Sarah joined him quickly.  
To his surprise but not to Sarah’s, the flowers were form Sherlock. But instead of some standard or ridiculously un-Sherlock sentiment, the card simply read:

>   
>  I bought milk.  
>  Sherlock   
> 

John smiled and then quickly started laughing.  
“I’m happy for you,” Sarah said easily. “Now tell the driver where to drop me off.” She ran her hand along the soft leather seat saying, “Must be nice to have a rich, posh boyfriend.”  
“It’s his brothers car.”  
“And I’m glad he thinks of you. I think I have a blister on my foot.”  
“Glad I could be there for you.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

John got out of the car in very good spirits. He held his flowers carefully and stopped around to the thank the driver. He said his goodbyes and then went inside.  
His feet still hurt, but he was truly amazed how much better he felt by such a small gesture.   
He walked into their flat happy but went dead still with that one step over the threshold. It took him that one step for his mind to tell him that something was wrong. And as he looked at the sight before him, John wasn’t quite sure how he should feel or what he should do.   
It was Sherlock that suggested, “Do come in, John.”  
Mechanically, John’s feet moved him forwards.  
Sherlock stepped forward and took the flowers out of his hands, saying, “I see you got my gesture.”  
John didn’t respond, not even when Sherlock took his coat. He simply stared.  
The table was set perfectly, like something out of a manners manual. He had no idea where the table linen or china had come from. He knew it wasn’t theirs. A small, glass bowl had been filled with water sat at center. In the bowl a lit pillar candle sat. Simple and perfect. Wine glasses were poured. And sitting on the table was John’s favorite roast dinner.  
“I don’t understand,” John said a little lost.  
Sherlock held a chair out saying, “I’ve cooked a meal for you. My intent is for this to be a romantic and bonding experience.”  
“You…cooked. Dinner.” John felt truly lost. He felt a little dizzy.  
Sherlock helped John into the chair.   
“I checked the internet and it seems that making your partner a romantic dinner, coupled by sentimental gestures are over whelmingly seen by the general public as the preferred and expected activities that predict favorable romantic outcomes.”  
John picked up the single red rose sitting on his plate.  
Sherlock sat opposite him.  
“You hate sentiment. You think it’s useless and a waste of time.”  
Sherlock looked away. “You don’t.”   
Sherlock picked at his heavy linen cloth napkin saying, “I want you to know that I’ve been paying attention to you. And, I want you to know that I really want this to work. It’s plainly obvious that we belong together, John. Please tell me that you feel the same.”  
John was still staring. He brought himself out of it long enough to ask, “I didn’t know you could cook more than just eggs and bacon.”  
An annoyed look crossed Sherlock’s face. “Cooking is simple chemistry. Nothing more.”  
“Did you put anything in it?”  
“I don’t understand the question.”  
“You don’t know that we’ve had this conversation before. Still, I must bring this up. The one time you brought me a cup of coffee you were testing what you thought was a hallucinogenic.”  
“That sounds expedient.”  
John’s face fell.  
“But wrong,” Sherlock rushed to say.   
John’s face immediately reacted.  
“Very wrong. No. There’s nothing in the food. I made it for us. The dessert is from Mycroft. I told him that I didn’t have time to make anything and he had a tray of pastries delivered.”  
The corner of John’s mouth tilted up merrily, “That was unusually nice of him.”  
“He approves.”  
“Is that important?”  
“Are you testing me?”  
“Maybe a little, but I’m genuinely interested in the answer.”  
Sherlock took a moment. “He is my brother and his opinion matters. But you are much more important to me than I could have ever imagined. So much more.”  
John leaned in and asked, “Did you really buy milk?”  
Sherlock smiled. “It’s in the refrigerator.”  
Seriously, John finally said, “I was really on the fence about us, Sherlock. But the milk thing really tilted things in your favor.”  
Sherlock smiled harder.  
“Course now that I know that you’re capable of shopping and cooking, I’ll probably ask it of you every now and then.”  
The smile melted off of Sherlock’s face. “Let’s eat.”  
John smirked but let the joke go.  
They tucked into their meal without hesitation.  
As Sherlock cut his food into manageable sized pieces, he asked, “I have questions about anal sex to pose.”  
John’s fork froze in mid-air.   
“Oh,” he managed to squeak out.  
“Have you engaged in the activity much?”  
John quirked an eyebrow. “A few times. If my partner enjoyed it or was open to trying it.”  
“My research has led me to conclude that although it’s the quintessential sexual activity most associated with gay sex, it’s not always the best place to begin when exploring a new relationship. At least not if both parties aren’t open to the idea.”  
“And you aren’t?”  
Sherlock put his fork down. “John, I don’t remember a great many things. While I look forwards to doing many things with you, I don’t think I want to rush. Is that alright?”  
“Yes,” John said quickly. He leaned forwards saying, “Sherlock this is the first relationship that I’ve ever initiation with another man. I’d like to go slowly into it.”  
“I thought that might be a problem. I know how much you enjoy sex, Three Continents and all.”  
Carefully, John said, “I haven’t seen that person since Afghanistan. He died when I got shot. It’s not a bad thing. I think I just matured a bit.”  
John looked up at Sherlock’s face. “Yes, I like sex. I like it very much. It feels good. I’m both excited and weary to explore this between us. I’m worried that I might cock it up or not enjoy it.”  
“And I’m nothing near sensual, sexual, or tactile. I could cock this up in any of forty seven different ways. No. I just thought of another. Forty eight.”  
John picked up his wine and took a deep drink. “I think we have to agree to communicate. I we can’t say if we are comfortable or ready, then we shouldn’t be doing anything together. That being said, know that I don’t expect you to do these kinds of things for me.”  
“You didn’t like it?”  
“Oh, I like it. This was all surprising and wonderful. But I don’t expect you to step out of character to suit me. Does that make sense?”  
Sherlock reached across the table and held John’s hand.  
Sherlock smirked. “Does that mean I don’t have to keep buying milk?”  
“I should have seen that coming,” John shook his head. “No, you don’t. But, yes, I’d appreciate it.”  
Dinner progressed. They kept the conversation light. They drank and they ate without noticing the time go by.  
Their front door opened suddenly and Lestrade came running in. He came to a quick and abrupt halt. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open.  
Sherlock made to stand.  
“No,” John said quickly. “Sit and finish your dinner.” John turned to Lestrade and said, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”  
“Sorry.” Lestrade gasped. “I saw the light and was just thankful you were up. I didn’t mean to intrude.”  
“It’s fine, Greg. Have you eaten? Coffee and cigarette’s don’t count.”  
“Then, no. There’s a serial killer.”  
“Anyone about to die?”  
“No,” Lestrade admitted.  
“Good. Please sit. You look like shite.” John walked to the kitchen.  
“Thanks, mate.”  
“Why do you think it’s a serial killer?” Sherlock asked hungrily.  
John returned with a plate in hand.  
“I’m sure Mycroft would be unhappy to see you like this. You need food. Then we’ll run all over London looking for this killer.”  
“What’s his signature? Tell me he’s not some lack luster copy cat. I hate it when there’s no creativity.”  
“Don’t worry, Sherlock. There’s plenty of creativity at the site. I probably still have his creativity on the bottom of my shoes.”  
Sherlock opened his mouth.   
John cut him off by saying, “Let Greg eat. The body will still be there in an hour.”  
John placed a full plate in front of the Detective inspector. “I’ll get you a bottle of water. You need it more than black tea or coffee.”  
“Are we looking at sadism, a trophy hunter, or a is it just a good old fashioned thrill killer?” Sherlock asked happily.  
“Sherlock, really,” John said amused. “We can tell you all about your new best friend after he eats.” 


	9. A MATCH MADE

Ten days. It took ten days of bad coffee, bad tea, missed meals and missed sleep to identify the serial they were after. Sherlock was enthralled. Even with John constantly after him to eat and rest. He refused; insisting that his body went further on less food.  
“Of all the things to remember!” John complained. He calmed himself when he realized they’d started to attract attention. More quietly, he said, “You spent the last ten hours staring at that board and going through those files. In the last thirty nine hours you haven’t slept, eaten, or drank more than a cup of tea.”  
“I’m fine,” Sherlock insisted.  
Undaunted, John continued to say, “The last solid meal you had was ten days ago. I know you’re entertained, challenged, and so enthusiastic about catching this guy that you can’t see it, but you can’t take much more.”  
Sherlock opened his mouth.  
John quickly said, “Everyone here has had some kind of food and rest. Except you.” John reached out and took Sherlock’s hand. “You know who it is. We both know he’s going to do a runner. Let them do their job. If they haven’t caught him by morning, we’ll do it ourselves.”  
Donovan walked by saying, “Always a good idea to listen to your boyfriend, freak.”  
Lestrade was at his desk, phone to his ear, on hold, he said, “We go it. I’ll text you if anything changes, yeah?”  
It was at that point that Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled along towards the exit.  
“The train lines,” Sherlock demanded. “He’ll try to escape the country by train not airplane.”  
And then he was pulled away.  
It was later in the taxi that John bumped his shoulder with Sherlock’s.  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just get worried.”  
“Of all the insane things to remember,” Sherlock said mournfully. He looked at John and confessed, “I don’t. I wish I did, but I don’t.”  
“You may never get it all back, Sherlock. The reality is that amnesiacs get partial memories, bits and pieces. Getting it all back in a flash only happens in the movies.”  
John took Sherlock’s hand in his and rested his head on the man’s shoulder. “We get to start fresh.”  
Sherlock leaned in and smelled John’s hair. He murmured. “I want to marry you, John Watson. I don’t need my memories to know that you and I are meant to be.”  
John smiled happily. “You’re still going to sleep the night and eat breakfast.”  
Sherlock smiled. “I don’t need that much,” he grumbled.  
“Yes. You do.”  
Sherlock pulled his arm away, looped it over and across John’s shoulder’s and pulled him closer. He even kissed the top of the man’s head.  
“I must love you,” Sherlock said in wonder. “I’ve never wanted physical contact with anyone before.” After a moment, Sherlock said, “You feel good.”  
John swallowed hard. He breathed in Sherlock’s scent. When he was ready he said, “Yes.”  
Sherlock pulled away a bit unsure that he’d heard correctly.  
John looked up. He met Sherlock’s eyes and said, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”  
For a long moment Sherlock didn’t know what to do. Finally, he smiled. “I’ll try to be a good husband. I’ll always lift the police tape for you.”  
John smiled harder.  
“That’s important in a marriage.”  
“And I’ll give you warning when I’m going to test a substance on you.”  
“Every time, Sherlock.”  
“I promise. I’ll…I’ll even buy milk.” He shrugged, “On occasion.”  
John laughed. “Right now, let’s just try getting home to bed. Well deserved sleep, and then a good breakfast. We’ll sort the rest out later.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

They woke several hours later tangled together.   
They’d both showered, toweled off, and fallen into bed naked. Sherlock claimed to not be tired, but he’d fallen asleep the moment he touched his pillow.  
John was the first to open his eyes. He took the opportunity to touch the man laying next to him. He marveled at how smooth the man’s skin was. John pulled the sheet down exposing Sherlock’s torso. He glided his fingers from the soft lips down. Gently, over the long, pale neck and into the hollow at his throat’s end. He lingered there feeling the slightest of movements from breathing. His fingers continued after a while. His solid and tight chest moved with every breath. Only the slightest layer of fat covered the musculature and bones of his chest and belly. He knew that there was only that much fat because he’d been taking care of the man. Still, John knew that he could do better, put a little more weight on him.  
John lingered at his belly button. He slipped his finger inside and then traced around it. Slowly, he went down.   
Smooth skin was replaced by glossy, black curls. Wiry and so different from John own dark blonde that it was fascinating. It shocked him when he realized that he was fully erect.  
“No,” Sherlock groaned. “Sensitive.”  
“Too sensitive?” John asked unsure.  
“It’ll go away soon,” Sherlock said stretching a little. He opened his eyes and said, “It always does.”  
“Sherlock,” John chocked on the words.  
“What is it?”  
It took John a minute. When he was able, he said, “Sex. Sherlock. Morning erections can be very bothersome. You’re here. I’m here. We can at least take care of it together. I’d like that.”  
Sherlock didn’t move. He didn’t speak.  
“I need to know if you want this.”  
When Sherlock remained silent, John got up intent on leaving be and running to the bathroom to deal with his hurt. Sherlock caught his arm.  
“Have we done this?” Sherlock asked.  
“No,” John admitted. “It’s new to me too. My body needs it. God knows I haven’t had any relief in months. Sex is comforting. And, you’re the only person that I’d want to do this with.” A second later, he added, “If you’re not ready, it’s okay to say that you’re not ready.”  
“I…don’t mind touching you. I was surprised by that.”  
“Let’s be clear. We’re not talking about anal sex. But we can get off together.”  
“Frottage?” Sherlock offered.  
“I guess that’s what it’s called.”  
“It means rubbing genitals together, a type of non-penetrative sex.”  
John didn’t have to think hard. “Sherlock, I’d like very much if I could kiss you while rubbing both our penises together. I think I could get off like that. Could you?”  
“What do I do?” Sherlock asked sitting up a bit.  
“What feels right,” John said a moment before slanting his mouth across those lips. John kissed Sherlock as insistently, but as gently as he could.  
He ran his hands across that body enjoying the feel of the perfect skin.  
John pulled away a little. Sherlock looked curious. He’d seen that look before on Sherlock. It was his experimentation appraisal; it was that look that he got when he was about to start something big. It was a mixture of thought and contemplation as a thing was evaluated and catalogued.  
John looked right into Sherlock’s eyes as he climbed over his body. John aligned their penises together. He slowly began rocking. He felt those dark wiry curls as they ground together.  
Sherlock shut his eyes and threw his head back. John took the opportunity to attack the pale column of exposed flesh. He heard a deep moan escape the man that went straight to John’s cock. He rutted harder, faster. He needed to hear it again.  
“Sherlock,” John called.  
The phone rang. The shrill tone broke through brining both of them down to reality, if only for a moment.  
John stopped his rhythm. He turned and saw it on this night stand where he’d left it.   
“It’s Lestrade,” Sherlock huffed without a glance. “They’ve caught him.”  
John was about to say…something when Sherlock began to kiss him. All rational thought flew out of John’s head. And when Sherlock’s hips began moving up against John’s, he lost the ability for comprehension beyond the physical act at hand.  
They lost themselves quickly. The motion of their bodies was all they understood. Grunts and groans their only language. They thrust against each other, sweating and panting. Sherlock grabbed at John’s buttocks demanding more. John rocked his hips at another angle, it earned him a groan from Sherlock so deep that it made John smile.  
John threw his head back and thrust faster. That familiar feeling deep in the pit of his belly. He lost all thought. He ground down harder as his mind lost control over his physical action. Three times and he was lost. His body emptied itself.  
For a moment everything went black, when he came too it was to the feeling of Sherlock pushing up against him. The body beneath him went stiff. He groaned loudly as something that sounded like ‘John’ was garbled unintelligibly. Wetness joining the already sticky mess between them.  
The smell in the room was thick and musty. It was very male. It was sex in it’s most primitive form.   
John wanted to move, but he couldn’t. His body was unable to move. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to move. He wasn’t sure about anything beyond the fact that the sticky mess between them was proof of what they’d just done.  
“We just fucked,” John whispered a little confused.  
Sherlock’s breathing was still unsteady.  
John was still on top of Sherlock. As if he’d just noticed, John tired to move away. Sherlock’s large hands moved fast. They caught John’s hips quickly and pulled him back into place. John wanted to protest but it turned into a moan as his over sensitized genitals were harshly dragged back into place across sweaty skin.  
“No,” Sherlock growled. He buried his face in John’s neck. After a moment, of breathing hotly against John’s skin, he said, “I enjoyed that more than I imagined.”  
Sherlock caressed John’s hips as he looked down and witnessed their ejaculate. Further down both their genitals lay close to each other. Spent and currently uninterested.  
“How long?” Sherlock asked. “How long until we can try again?”  
John didn’t answer immediately. A part of him wondered if he should answer.   
Sudden realization flashed across Sherlock’s face in shock and horror.  
“No!” John gasped suddenly. “It was good just…confusing.” John chocked on his next words. He had to take a moment to swallow and breath. Finally, he said, “Was I supposed to like it that much? Shouldn’t it have been awkward and at least not good?”  
“We’re engaged,” Sherlock reasoned. “Isn’t this what people do when they’re in love? Engaged to be married?”  
John reached up and took Sherlock’s face. Between his hands. “I’m sorry. I wanted this to be wonderful and I’m ruining it.”  
“Nothing is ruined,” Sherlock insisted. “I just want to know that you are fine with this.”  
“What if I’m not?”  
Sherlock looked pained, but he still said, “Then we don’t have to do this again. We’ll focus on our friendship. That can be endearing.”  
“I need time.” John got off Sherlock’s lap. He settled on his side of the bed and pulled the sheets up.  
“How much time?”  
“About twenty minutes.” John reached up and pulled Sherlock closer. He snuggled into the other man. “Most blokes need about twenty minutes.”  
John settled his head against Sherlock’s chest. He managed to settle in for only a few moments before he said, “Can you reach your phone?”  
“Yes.”  
“Good. Order us a big breakfast and don’t forget the tea.” John felt his eyes grow a bit heavy. “After we’ll try something else. Oral sex maybe. I’ve got a lot of condoms in the nightstand.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Mycroft provided the rings as an early wedding gift. They were thick platinum with an embedded ring of pure gold running the circumference. Sherlock gave John his ring on a roof top overlooking London. John had his gun trained on a jewel thief.  
It was fitting. Sherlock wrapped one arm around John. In the other hand Sherlock held the rings in a grey cushioned black box.  
“It’s time,” Sherlock said holding the box up.  
John smiled. “You didn’t have to do that.”  
“I wanted to do it right.”  
“They all say that they don’t want a ring with a big rock, mate!” the thief on the ground called. “But they do! They always do!”  
“Concentrate on not moving,” John responded. “You move. I shoot.”  
Sherlock tentatively pulled out John’s smaller ring from the grey velvet and said, “Give me your non-shooting hand.”  
John smiled as he offered his gloved hand. Sherlock gently removed John’s glove and placed the ring where it belonged. John didn’t take his eyes off the suspect. He reached out saying, “Give me yours?”  
Sherlock offered the ring to John’s outstretched hand.  
John plucked the ring from the little box with a lopsided smile. He then offered it up. Sherlock removed his leather glove and met John’s offering.  
“With this ring,” John murmured.  
Sherlock kissed his hair.  
A moment later, Sherlock bend down as he put his glove on. He studied the man on the ground saying, “You’ve been digging. Is that where you hid the jewels? The insurance company is paying ten percent of their worth.”  
“That’s money for our wedding.”  
“And lab equipment.”  
“Maybe we can take a proper honeymoon.”  
“I want an electron microscope.”  
Sherlock got up and walked around the man on the ground. He plucked a little bit of green of the man’s back saying, “Ivy vine.”  
Sherlock pulled off the man’s shoe off and studied underneath. “There are charred bits in the dirt. A burnt structure and ivy growth.  
John smiled. “The lot across from his bookies flat.”  
“Very good, John. We shall recover the jewels as soon as we’re able.”  
“I’ll cut you in,” the thief offered.  
“That’s very kind, but the jewelry is laser etched. There’s no way to sell the jewelry to anyone and then split it 50/50 and make more than what the insurance company is offering. Therefore, your offer is not worth even considering.”  
“And our integrity,” John suggested.  
Sherlock looked at John and said, “Yes, that too.”  
The police arrived and few moment’s later and took the suspect away.  
Sherlock took John’s hand in his and whispered, “We need a shovel.”  
John leaned against Sherlock. “We’ll find a hardware. Dig up some treasure, and have some dinner. I’m thinking a nice curry house.”  
“Thai,” Sherlock countered. “I don’t like the way you taste after all that spice.”  
John smiled. “This is our life.”  
“Of course it is,” Sherlock replied. “It’s our life. Exactly as if should be. Now off we go to recover those stolen jewels. Electron microscopes don’t buy themselves.”  
“First, we secure the hall, the caterers, and the floral arrangements.”  
“The wedding should be small,” Sherlock countered.  
“Not a sentiment in sight,” John assured.  
Fin. 


End file.
